


The Waking, The Rising

by cenotaphs



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, F/F, F/M, M/M, Slow Burn, Trans Character, basically an urban fantasy AU, everyone's different but for Reasons, good guys will become bad and vice versa, it's fun, joe is nile's adopted brother, lotta tropes here folks, nile's father is important, non-con warning is for talk of having sex while too drugged to consent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 07:00:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 16
Words: 126,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28720917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cenotaphs/pseuds/cenotaphs
Summary: Joe Freeman is busy running an underground network of illegal werewolves. He has no interest in starting a war in the middle of his city. But when he comes to the rescue of a stunning blue-eyed stranger, and is temporarily killed for his trouble, he finds that that's exactly what he's done.
Relationships: Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Quynh | Noriko, Booker | Sebastien le Livre/Nile Freeman, Celeste/Keane, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 78
Kudos: 195





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If the beginning of this seems familiar to anyone, you must have been a member of A Certain Fandom literally ten years ago, so. Good memory. Rest assured that the unfinished WIP I started there did not work, and when translated over the TOG it has been amazing. And I have finally frigging finished. So, enjoy? 
> 
> This is my child. I'll update two or three times a week.

“Man cries, his tears dry up and run out. So he becomes a devil, reduced to a monster.”

― Kouta Hirano

* * *

Night had become brighter than day in the city.

A few weeks back, over the sidewalks all through Seattle’s busy downtown district, panels were installed: long strips of LED light that blasted down from dusk until dawn. The light stripped away the darkness, painted the streets and crowded sidewalks in an unnatural bright glow until the sun came up to replace it.

It was the latest stride in vampire/human relations, to light up the nighttime so that the humans who lived nocturnally could fool their bodies into thinking there was a sun out somewhere. Absurd, like everything else people did to pay homage to a pack of pretty zombies.

Not that anyone asked Joe Freeman’s opinion about things like that.

It made Joe’s current chore a mixed blessing: he was headed to the last place in the world he wanted to go, but it would get him away from the incessant glare. Back to the kinds of places the city couldn’t afford (or didn’t want) to light up.

Places where night was still allowed to be dark.

Even the breeze that cooled the heat of the summer evening didn't seem to reach past 38th Street. The door Joe wanted was on 42nd.

The air hung, ripe and stale, and he shifted his jacket higher on his shoulders and plodded down thankfully dark sidewalks. It was a familiar walk to the sagging duplex that was his destination, though he didn’t take the trip often these days. Only when he had to, and then only reluctantly.

To the right of the duplex steps, someone was curled on the ground. A bony carcass of a human girl, huddled up under newspapers and moaning a pain that made Joe’s stomach clench in familiarity. The stink of sickness around her was misted with a chemical tang. Meth. She was coming off it hard. Nothing Joe could help with, and the time had passed when he would have tried.

Joe pulled Pete's photo out of his pocket as he climbed the crumbled stoop. He knocked on the 'condemned' sign that weather and time had peeled into illegible gray fibers that barely clung to the door.

A moment passed. Two. It was late, almost sunrise. Cesar was probably sleeping off a long night but Joe knew him - always ready to make a sale. Like a whore's legs _,_ he once told Joe, with that dry rice paper laugh of his. Always open.

Didn't mean he'd open for Joe, though. All he had to do was check the feed from the security camera that was pointed at the stoop, and he'd know that there wasn't a paying customer there. But Joe amused him, so he usually answered.

Eventually the door creaked open. “Well, _look_ who the--“

Joe was ready. He thrust the photo out so it would be the first thing Cesar saw. "Seen him?"

Cesar stepped out onto the landing and blinked down at the picture slowly. “Jesus. Too early to be that pushy.”

“His name's Pete.”

“Come on, Joey.” Cesar looked up at him and grinned, which sent a new stink into the air between them. He'd lost a couple more teeth since Joe last saw him, and decay was captured in his breath. "Not even a smile or a hello?"

Cesar was all angles, body thinned by years of taking the same drugs he tainted the neighborhood with. The darkness brought those angles out sharply, turned him into a pock-marked skull topped with dull black hair. But his eyes glittered, bright and familiar.

Joe was careful not to let his expression change. "Hello."

Cesar was a scary addict: long-term guys like him wore their high like a comfortable suit. Could never tell how messed up they really were. It was best to stay calm whenever he dealt with him, stay flat and level, just in case.

Cesar's gaze drifted to the photo but didn't linger. "Another wolf? Christ."

Joe lifted the picture higher in answer.

"I don't know why you bother. Have you found any of your lost puppies yet?" Cesar plucked the picture from Joe’s hand but didn't look away from him. His other arm stayed hidden, pressed close to his body. He was carrying, of course. Guys like Cesar were always armed.

"He's been in the city maybe six months," Joe said, and nodded at the picture. "He used, and he's a wolf. That means you sold to him."

Cesar smirked. "A lotta people buy from me, a few of ‘em are wolves. You think I ask for personal information? I'm not a fucking bank."

Joe's eyes stayed steady on him. Couldn't react, couldn’t give an inch with Cesar. It was too hard to keep him focused as it was.

Cesar heaved a sigh after a moment of non-reaction, and he squinted at the picture again. The photo was a couple years old, ragged-edged, lousy quality. Joe was lucky to even have a picture. All he usually had was a name and a description.

"What was his name? Pete?"

"Black. Peter Black."

“Huh.” Cesar blinked up at Joe, and his furrowed temple smoothed like he knew something. But he didn't bother to share, just smirked. "Tell me something, hero. Why do you do this shit? Nobody misses this guy, I’d bet you money on that."

Joe drew in a breath, let it out slowly. Kept his hands from squeezing into fists.

It was about a fifty-fifty shot with Cesar. Some nights he was inclined to be helpful, some nights he just wanted to play games. Tonight didn't look good.

"If you know something, tell me."

In answer, Cesar opened his fingers and let Pete's photo flutter to the ground. "I don't know him," he said. "I don't make friends with dogs. And I don’t _stay_ friends with assholes who develop attitudes, so why don’t you watch your tone?”

Joe drew in another deep breath and let it out. He bent down and peeled the photo from the damp step where it landed. _Self-control_ , a voice that sounded like his adopted dad said in his mind. _Can't control your emotions, but you can control your reactions to them._

He really couldn't afford to alienate Cesar. The guy was a prick, yeah, and usually not much help, but he was the only dealer around who sold to wolves. And there were too few leads when a wolf went missing.

Joe straightened back up, ready to suck it up and play nice so that Cesar would open the door next time he came around, when a scent in the air caught his attention. A sharp scent, human.

The smell of fear.

It was a distinctive scent: a special kind of sweat, tangy with dots of adrenaline. Nothing like the fresh sweat of an athlete or the funk of the soap deprived. The sweat of fear was sharp and strong, and always rose above the thousand other things humans tended to smell like.

He breathed in slowly, tried to be inconspicuous about it: humans didn't tend to sniff the air, and Joe was playing a role he couldn't drop, especially in front of this asshole.

Maybe a block away, he guessed, even further from the lighted sidewalks of uptown. One human who leaked fear from their pores.

"So? Why the hell are you doing this?” Cesar’s voice cut into his focus. “They can't possibly pay you to track down these stray dogs."

Joe shoved the photo into the pocket of his jacket, distracted by that smell. "He's not a dog."

“As good as,” Cesar answered with a snort. “He probably left, Joe, shit. Maybe they're all going back to the woods with their mangy packs, where they belong."

"Wolves don't run." His eyes cut back to Cesar, his expression hard.

“Oh yeah, they're real pyramids of virtue.”

“Not sure that's the word you want.” He glanced up the dark and apparently empty street, then inhaled again, curious. The scent was still there: fear, sweat, and a little trace of blood.

No. Not just blood.

He breathed in again to be sure. The copper bite of spilled blood was unmistakable, and this wasn't that. This was stale blood, filtered through veins, seeping from a body’s pores the way the smell of food followed humans after they ate.

Only one thing left a scent trail like that.

"So what do you think, it’s like that chick on the radio says? They're all getting kidnapped and fed to the vampires? Yeah, that's a _lot_ more believable."

Joe glanced back at Cesar, surprised away from that smell. Andy's informal broadcasts weren't well known outside the wolf community. At least he hoped they weren’t.

"Or maybe there's a strain of rabies going around. Why do you care? Why should any human care?"

Joe turned a glare to Cesar and forgot to temper his reaction. "I care because they're missing." He moved in, jabbing a finger at Cesar's narrow chest. "Pete Black is a good guy working to make money for his family, and you're the last piece of shit on this planet fit to insult him. Any of them."

Cesar's jaw tightened up. "Pot and kettle, asshole."

"Maybe, but this wolf I'm looking for is worth ten of you."

That was a mistake. He knew it the moment the words came out. There was nothing that pissed off a human more than being compared to a wolf.

"There's not a wolf out there equal to a human." Cesar's arm twitched like he was half a second away from pulling his weapon just from sheer outrage. “Get the hell off my doorstep before you scare away paying customers."

Joe turned his back on Cesar without a word and moved down the uneven cement steps to the sidewalk. This was a dead end. Worse than a dead end: he would drag Cesar and that block and the memories they stirred behind him like a slug trail for the next few days, until he felt washed clean.

He breathed in again as he tried to figure out which direction to move in.

Fear, sweat. Circulating, half-dead blood. Ahead and to the left, deeper into the darkness and the stink of downtown. Or he could head home, where they expected him, where the air was a little fresher even if the sidewalks were closer to those obnoxious light panels.

"You know something, Joey?" Cesar's voice pitched out behind him. "I think you were happier with a needle in your arm. You were sure as hell more interesting."

Tension slipped up his spine, but Joe shoved his hands in his pockets in search of warmth and walked on. The ragged edge of the photo in his pocket rasped against his knuckles, and he moved fast down the street in the direction of that fear, and blood.

He couldn’t help Pete, like he couldn’t help the dozen other wolves who had gone missing lately. He couldn’t help that skinny little twig of a girl who shivered on the ground by the stairs. But maybe there was someone he _could_ help.

Ahead. Left.

As ridiculous as the unnatural brightness of the middle of Seattle was, Joe hated the slums more. The hopelessness, the stench, the piles of trash that hid practically feral humans ready to jump at anyone who came too close. Junkies, alcoholics, bums.

Joe hated it because he used to belong to it. Because maybe he still did: it was the only place where no one looked at him twice.

There was an alley ahead. On one side was a shithole motel, the kind of bedbug-infested place people checked into and months later were still there, fighting to pay the bill every week. On the other side was a boarded-up diner, where the people who couldn't afford the motel probably squatted.

It was dark down that alley: no LED panels, no lights from the boarded-up windows or the motel. But Joe could see everything clearly.

Lines of trash cans. A dumpster near where he stood pressed to the wall. The place reeked of puke and mold, of Desert Sun or Midnight Oasis or whatever the three-dollar vodkas called themselves these days.

Luckily there was no need to sniff out his prey anymore. He could see them.

Vampires.

Under the lights a few blocks down, thousands of humans - tourists, locals, droop-shouldered teenagers and tight-assed businessmen - all lived around a night schedule in the hope they would see what Joe saw. There were only a hundred fangs in Seattle's famous tribe, and they were rare sights on the streets.

But now, right in front of him, stood two.

Strange that they'd be out this far from their underground entryways. Strange that they made it there unnoticed by the humans who were always on the lookout for fangs.

Just as strange that the human who was with them stank like terror. Humans weren’t scared of fangs. They worshiped them. They lived in awe. But the human held against that alley wall radiated fear.

The human and his terror meant nothing to Joe. He didn’t bother with humans. They had help already: cops and lawyers and medical insurance.

But he was wired for action, frustrated over Pete and a dozen more like him. The idea of two vampires out of their underground caverns, away from the light and the crowds, in the dirty dark of his territory...

Too good to resist.

He moved in on silent feet, sidestepped spongy trash and a couple of annoyed rats. His eyes stayed on the fang who held that scared human against the wall.

The vampire was a few inches shorter than Joe. Slender, with dark outgrown hair that was swept messily back off his face. He looked youngish, but there was no point trying to guess a vampire's age by their appearance. Maybe he was twenty, but maybe he’d been twenty for a thousand years. Judging from his profile his features were boring: deep-set eyes and thin, smirking lips, porcelain-white skin. He looked delicate, at least if Joe ignored the vice grip he had on the terrified human.

Joe glanced at the second fang who stood off by himself. He was taller than his pal, maybe an inch or two taller than Joe’s six feet. Lighter brown hair, almost blond, skin tanner than the other one. He had serious eyes under thick eyebrows, a neatly kept beard a shade too perfect to be just stubble. Broad, much more solidly built than his companion. Handsome as hell, like most fangs.

Neither saw Joe approach, or heard the soft pad of his footsteps. When he got close enough, he simply straightened and cleared his throat.

All gazes swung to him. No one moved.

"I don't think the guy wants to be food." Joe put his focus on the shorter one. Instinct told him he was the one to watch, and not just because of his grip on that human. 

The fang stared back at him. His eyes were crystal blue, with unmistakable flakes of red in the pupils. Joe had never seen those red flakes in person before.

"Excuse me?" His voice was precise and tenor. An accent lilted his words, that highbrow English BBC sound.

Joe moved in a few more steps, though he kept some distance between him and them. Much as he hated them, fangs could move faster than he could.

"You heard me. Let him go."

"You can't be serious." The fang edged off the human, hands loosely fisted in the shimmering, silvery fabric of the guy's shirt. "I'd suggest you turn and walk away from here."

Joe moved in another step. “Make me.”

Lips thinned with irritation, the fang twisted to share a glance with his silent, tall friend.

With the vampire distracted, his human prisoner lurched suddenly away in an awkward sideways step. He pried the fang's fists from his shirt in one jerky move, and as he stumbled free, he bolted towards Joe. A blur of brown hair and silver shirt darted towards Joe and then passed without slowing.

Smart guy.

The fang jerked as the guy got away but didn't make a move after him. His empty hands fell to his sides as he watched his victim take off. He looked back at Joe, red-eyed gaze sharp enough to slash.

He spoke through his teeth. "That was a mistake."

"I've made worse." Joe backed up a step. With the human out of their reach he had no real reason to hang around. Vampire pissed off: mission accomplished.

The fang stepped towards him. The faint light from the street reflected off the white points of his teeth. His gaze moved behind Joe.

"What is this, Nicky?" he asked, his voice as smooth as his eyes were hard. "Is this one of your new friends?"

Joe glanced back over his shoulder. To his surprise the human had stopped and was still in the alley, though at a safe distance near the opening onto the street.

He seemed older than Joe first thought. Striking guy, as tall and broad as Joe. Thick, messy brown hair, an oversized Greek-statue kind of nose. Giant eyes, but maybe that was the panic. His arms were folded across his chest, nervous. He stared from the fang to Joe and back again, twitchy, ready to rabbit the way he should have in the first place.

Joe dismissed the guy from his mind as he turned back to the vampires. "I'm nobody's friend."

The fang looked back at him. His lip curled upward. "You have a death wish, then."

"I'm not some tourist who believes stories from a hundred years ago. You fangs are preening idiots who think you rule the world, but you're not killers." He grinned tightly. “You’re house pets.”

Pale hands curled into fists, but the second fang, the taller one, stepped up before the first could move again.

"Merrick." The word was low, a warning.

The shorter one ignored his friend. "You would talk to us like that? You?"

His gaze slithered down Joe’s body and back up again, and Joe felt every inch of it and the contempt behind it. He'd seen that same look all his life, that smug up-and-down sweep from people who thought they were better than him. He was less-than, that look said. Too hard, too slouched and scarred. Too brown, too dirty. Name it.

It burned, like someone lit a match in his gut. His shoulders squared and his hands fisted, and this wasn’t about the human anymore.

"You don't know the first thing about me, fang."

"I know you're weak, human."

That made his mouth twitch upward. "You're wrong on all counts."

"I know I can kill you without breaking a sweat." The fang, Merrick, smirked; it looked natural on him, like his thin features were created just to hold that expression. He might’ve been the bored son of millionaires back when he was a person.

Joe returned the smirk, though he probably didn’t pull it off as well. "Maybe you could, but you won't. You might break a nail or wrinkle your cute little outfit, and God knows you fangs can't stand not being perfect."

Merrick’s teeth bared.

It should have worried Joe. The fang was right, after all, about how easy it would be to kill him. It was even easier than Merrick realized. Joe needed to back the hell away from there. Get out, get to safety. Common sense – a voice in his head that sounded, again, a lot like his adopted dad – yelled as much at him.

But he'd spent a lot of years ignoring that voice.

"You and your friend creep on back down to your sewers,” he said. “You're not wanted here."

The fang's face twisted in anger, and that was the last clear image Joe had of him.

The air around him shivered as a blur of movement shot towards Joe. The space between them vanished to nothing.

It was so instant that he didn't even have time to flinch.

He smelled the blood on the fang's breath first, the instant before his hand clamped around Joe’s arm. He wheeled Joe around, pulled him back against his body.

Fangs were strong, but Joe was more solid these days than most of his life, taller than this fang and far stronger than the fang expected him to be.

Joe grabbed the hand that held him and yanked. Merrick’s grip slipped; his breath stuttered in surprise as Joe’s fingernails dug lines of blood from his cool skin. Joe grinned over his shoulder, tight and wild, and saw shock and beginnings of uncertainty in the fang’s red-flaked eyes.

But just as Merrick’s steel grip started to give and his breath became labored, a third hand grabbed Joe’s arm and pried his nails from Merrick's skin.

Joe snarled and bucked to the side.

The second fang had a fierce grip. Both of his hands latched around Joe's arm, and when he yanked Joe couldn't stop it.

Joe was strong, but not strong enough to fight off two of them.

The taller fang didn't even look at Joe. His eyes – so bright blue that the vampire-red flakes were stark and obvious against them – were on Merrick.

“Stop this. Now.”

“He insulted--”

“I don't care. He's human, we don't threaten humans.” A different accent shaped his words, something equally European Joe couldn’t identify. His gaze settled on Joe, vivid and intent. His grip around Joe’s arm only tightened. “I don't know who you are or why you involved yourself in this, but leave. Now.”

Joe wanted to sneer in defiance; it would have been useless, but he was who he was. Still, he couldn’t manage it. That bright blue and red gaze held onto him, steady and calm, and he could see age in this fang’s eyes. Decades of it. There was something in it, the gravity behind it, that stamped down on Joe’s anger.

“He made me bleed.” Merrick thrust his arm out past Joe, dragged all focus back to him. “He doesn't get to walk away from that.”

"Wait!" A sudden nervous shout came from further up the alley.

The human, Nicky.

The fangs looked over at him, each with a tight grip on one of Joe's arms.

"Wait," Nicky said again, his eyes wide. “Just. Let him go, I don’t--”

Joe tried to use the distraction. He threw himself towards Merrick, but the taller one pulled him back easily. So he tried to jerk the other way, to shake off the grip by throwing himself right at that second fang, but the asshole had arms like solid cement. He didn't budge no matter how Joe twisted.

"Enough! Keep still, you’re making things worse." The fang jerked Joe’s arm behind his back sharply. Too tight, too high.

He froze, waiting for his wrist to break or his shoulder to dislocate. But the fang stilled, held him right at that edge.

From Joe’s other side came Merrick’s smug, precise voice. "You see, human? This is why your kind shouldn't--"

Joe bared his teeth at the smell of Merrick's blood-tainted breath. His head drove out, cracking into Merrick’s nose hard enough that he saw spots of light. There was a satisfying crunch of cartilage against his temple.

Merrick yelped. His grip vanished from Joe’s arm.

Before he could even make a fist the second fang yanked his other arm. Something pulled in his shoulder, a burn that tore right through his muscle.

"Move again and I'll tear your arm off."

Something about the calm certainty in that accented voice got through to Joe. He stilled, breathing hard. His gaze darted around the alley at the human, and the fang bent with his hands over his face.

"Merrick?"

"Jesus, Sebastien." Merrick's voice came out pinched and clogged-up. "My nose."

Vampires didn't feel pain as sharply as humans or wolves did, stories said, but they were slow to heal when hurt. A broken nose might end up permanently crooked. An eternity of Rich Boy looking like a no-talent boxer. The thought warmed Joe momentarily.

The tall fang, Sebastien, spoke behind Joe. "Who _are_ you?"

"Who cares who he is? He broke my nose!"

Sebastien ignored his friend. He spoke near Joe's ear, his voice level enough to soothe. "You're a friend of Nicky’s."

"No!" The human again, unwilling to be ignored, and too stupid to just get the hell away while he could.

Merrick straightened at the sound of Nicky's voice. His hands dropped from his face, and Joe felt a surge of adrenaline when he saw the streaks of dark blood smeared from Merrick’s nose to his mouth and chin.

Merrick faced Nicky. He pointed a long-fingered hand back towards Joe. "This is who you left for? This? This _street trash_?"

"I told you, I didn't--"

"Look at him." Merrick lunged back towards Joe and grabbed his trapped arm.

He stumbled as Merrick yanked him, but Sebastien relaxed his grip on his wrist in time to keep from wrenching his arm out of place.

"Look!"

Nicky jumped like a nervous rabbit. His wide-eyed gaze landed on Joe.

Joe glared right back at him, frustrated and trapped.

Nicky was just another fancy night-time pretty boy human. Dressed in a shimmering silver shirt and tight black leather pants like he walked straight out of some dance club into this grimy little scene. He was shorter than Joe, but just barely. Square shoulders, narrow hips. Attractive. Attractive enough that he might've been mistaken for a vampire by someone who couldn't smell the difference.

Joe looked him in the eye for the first time, and for a moment something in his chest seemed to clench, to stall his heartbeat.

The human’s eyes were…well. Joe had never seen anything like them. So pale a bluish grey that they might have been white. Huge, intense. Glittering through the darkness as if he alone caught some invisible source of light and radiated it out again.

Joe nearly stopped fighting. Nearly lost all sense of the danger he was in.

_Oh,_ his mind supplied, struck stupid.

Joe didn't care for most humans; especially stupidly good-looking ones like him. But the fear in Nicky’s stunning eyes as their gazes met...that fear burned through his dislike. Despite the fancy clothes and the look of soft living, Nicky was a frightened guy who faced predators way too powerful for him to fight.

That was something Joe recognized.

Merrick's voice rasped out, all his former precision gone. "This dirty _human_. This is better than me?”

Joe’s eyes were slow to leave Nicky's face, but he bared his teeth and shot Merrick a glare.

Merrick didn't pay the slightest attention. "If I snap his neck will you learn your lesson?"

“Don't!”

"No? Maybe instead I'll give him what you used to beg me for. Maybe I'll make him crawl for it, the way you crawled for me."

Joe narrowed his eyes at Merrick, and then over at the human.

Nicky's hand came up, and limp fingers touched the loose collar of that ridiculous shiny shirt.

Joe’s eyes caught on his neck. The top couple of buttons on his shirt were undone. There were dark marks at his throat. Telltale twin scars.

Puncture wounds. Old ones, opened and reopened again and again.

As he stared at them, Joe remembered what Sebastien had said minutes ago. That they didn't threaten humans. Nicky was noticeably a human.

It hit him like a rock to his skull: if Merrick hadn't been threatening Nicky then something else was happening. Which meant that those scars were exactly what they looked like.

Nicky hadn't ever been in real danger. He wasn't some innocent victim. He was a fucking pet. A Devoted. This angel-faced stranger _belonged_ to the fangs. Lived with them and fed them his blood and...fuck.

The scent of fear he'd tracked must have been from nothing, from an argument, a lover's quarrel or something. Something Joe should never have gotten involved in.

Shit. Shit, he made the wrong move. He hadn’t come to anyone’s rescue, he’d gotten involved in some fang domestic drama.

"Leave him alone." Nicky – the pet, the _Devoted_ \- looked at Merrick, all wide eyes and deceptive innocence. "Please. I don't know him, I swear. He doesn't have anything to do with this."

"You're wrong." Merrick turned. The unbalanced gleam in his eyes fastened on Joe. "He has come between me and what's mine."

Joe recognized the arrogance in Merrick's eyes. He'd seen it enough times, not least on the face of the pusher he'd left behind not long ago.

And just like that, he knew how to get away. He knew what the bastard wanted. What Cesar wanted, and what every fang in the world wanted. For Joe to humble himself. Apologize. Beg. Grovel.

That was all he had to do to lower the temperature between them.

"Nothing here is yours," he hissed instead. "You think we're all just gagging to give you whatever you ask for, but the guy over there doesn't seem to want to belong to you. Last I checked it was against the law for you snaggle-toothed shits to bite someone against their will."

Merrick sneered. "You think there's a human in this city who would hold us accountable for breaking some law? Even if such a person existed, there won't be anyone pressing charges. You'll be too busy begging me for more."

“Merrick. Enough.” Sebastien spoke up suddenly. He released the loosened grip he still had on Joe’s arm. “This has gone too far already, and you know it. What would Meta say if she were here?”

Merrick's eyes stayed on Joe as he hissed out a breath. “She would understand. She doesn't suffer insults, neither should her sons. Meta doesn’t care about their laws.”

Joe met Merrick's eyes. "If you bite me, you’ll break a bigger law than you realize."

"I can break any law I want. I'm a god in this city."

"You're a corpse too stupid to know when to die."

Merrick simply smiled, his blood-stained lips thin and harsh. "And you," he said, words unsteady with intent, "are about to be my slave."

He was against Joe instantly, with that unnatural fang speed. He jerked Joe’s head back. Exposed his throat. There was a tickle of sharp points against his neck, a scrape, pressure, and then his skin gave in. Tore. Fangs pierced his neck, just above the collarbone. Base of the throat.

Puncture. Kill.

So sudden. So fucking fast. Something that huge shouldn't have been that fast.

The other vampire, Sebastien, shouted. It seemed muffled and distant. Merrick stayed fastened against Joe, his mouth pressed tight against his skin, greedy for the sickening gulps of blood from his veins.

He must have tasted in Joe’s blood what he really was, but at first he didn’t react. Eventually, after a few more swallows, his fangs tore free. Merrick planted his hands against Joe’s shoulders and shoved him away.

Joe stumbled backward.

"What the hell?" Merrick gaped at him, open shock on his face.

Joe looked back, blinked slow, heavy eyes. His neck throbbed. Blood tracked down his throat. He felt numb, grey, like he had already started to shut down.

It should have hurt more. Death should have been the worst pain possible.

For the first time Sebastien sounded something other than calm. "Damn it, Merrick, what were you even thinking, biting a--”

"He's a wolf!"

"What?"

"That’s wolf blood! He's a fucking werewolf, Sebastien!"

"That's...it isn't..." Sebastien turned to Joe. His words trailed off, his skin seemed washed out. He met Joe’s eyes as Joe’s vision started to fog over. “No. He can’t be. His eyes...”

Joe would have smirked, but his strength had drained away. His vision clouded, his chin drooped. Heaviness moved down his body, pulled his shoulders into a slump, sagged his legs. He hit his knees, swayed there, blinked hard like it might somehow clear the fog.

He couldn't lift his head. He opened his eyes, but all he could see was that human in the distance. Nicky. His ridiculous pants, black and tight. They looked leather but they were fake. Joe could smell the difference.

He was a fucking werewolf, after all.

Voices went back and forth over his head. High then low, excited then tense. But the sounds were thick and blurred, like he had slipped underwater. His pulse throbbed, louder than any other sounds, slower with every beat. Each breath became a fight, a thick heave.

"--know what this means?" Merrick's voice wavered from intelligible to muffled and back again. "--killed him…fucking wolf!"

The excitement in his voice wasn't panic. It was triumph.

Joe couldn't react. The world blurred into gray and he fell forward, barely catching himself on numb palms.

"--hear me?" Merrick appeared right in front of him, close but still a blur. His hand gripped Joe’s hair and jerked his face up. "--next in a long line. Every one of you animals will be gone before the year is out. You hear that?"

He heard it. Sharp and clear, like he was meant to hear it. Like taking those words with him into death would do anyone any good.

"—weeks, wolf. Your kind is about to see their last full moon."

His thin, excited tenor faded to white noise. A softer murmur drifted over Joe’s head, syrupy and slow. Sebastien’s calmer voice.

Then footsteps, two sets, leaving fast.

Even fangs might be held accountable for murder. Even a wolf murder.

Maybe.

His vision greyed out. His cheek burned suddenly, and he realized he'd collapsed on his face.

Dying, his body told him. He was dying. It was a wrongness under his skin, a change in his heart, a change in his breathing. Nothing he could fight. Dying. He had never felt anything like it before.

He wanted to go home. He wanted his family. Jesus. He hadn't seen Leon or Nile all day. Didn't even check in before he went hunting for missing wolves. Leon didn't need to lose anyone else, not even his perpetually ungrateful wolf son. Nile…

She would never know what happened. She wouldn't understand. She never did. All she would remember was that he didn't even say goodbye last time he walked out. He'd been too focused on Pete to pay attention to her, damn it, and she hated being ignored.

Now he'd never see her again. Either of them.

He wanted to howl. To split the air, to alert any wolves nearby. He didn't want to rot in an alley. He didn't want to be found by the city and shelved in some unidentified-wolf cold storage or thrown in an unmarked grave. He wanted to scream for help, to ask someone, anyone, to take his body home. To at least take back word.

Instead, the gray around him shrouded into black, and he was gone.

* * *

Then he was back.

His still chest jolted with a sudden heartbeat. His lungs seized and fought for the air they had emptied of. A desperate gasp jerked his shoulders off the ground.

The air reeked of spoiled garbage, cold in early morning, but it pulsed through his body with the next beat of his heart. Revived him.

His eyes opened. A dumpster sat at the edge of his unfocused vision, a blur of hard gray. The opening out to the street was a tunnel of pale light. Beside him, a brown blur shimmered with silver.

He fell back, gasped. The air was thick as syrup going down his throat, and his lungs pushed it out again too fast, like his body wanted to be rid of it.

Joe forced himself to move. With a heave of his back, he landed against the dumpster high enough to get him off the ground. A parody of sitting up, but it worked.

He sagged against the cold metal and gripped at his chest through his shirt. His heart _hurt_. The erratic throbs that sent blood through his veins felt strange. Too slow. Too hard, like it took twice as much force to make his heart pump.

He squinted around him, and when he looked toward that brown blur it started to sharpen. A face, impossibly wide, impossibly light eyes framed with messy dark hair. Joe scrubbed his eyes with a clumsy-feeling hand, and the image resolved itself.

Nicky. The vampire’s pet, crouched two feet away. His mouth hung open, and shock made his eyes seem even bigger.

Joe pushed more of those heavy breaths in and out. "What--"

Nope. Too soon to talk. Dizziness cut the words off.

Fuck, he felt like he'd been put into a blender, shaken. Everything under his skin was battered, pulpy.

He'd been through real pain in his life. Withdrawals, overdoses. The change every full moon. Waking up in chains afterward, bloody from his restraints, aching and starving with no one to help him. But he had never felt anything like the bone-deep, all-over wrongness that suddenly weighed him down.

"Oh my god!"

He winced at Nicky's voice, the sudden loudness of it.

"You're alive! But, I…he said…"

Joe touched his throat, and his fingers slipped over a numb patch of skin. He blinked at the red that coated his fingertips when he pulled them back. Blood. His blood.

And a scent under the iron of the blood, something sweet and strange.

Venom.

"You were dead! I checked when they ran off. Your heart wasn’t beating!"

“Enough,” Joe croaked. He couldn't put things together and the human’s voice didn’t help.

Nicky gripped his arm. "Are you--"

Joe flinched away. "Don't touch me." His chest pounded. Jesus.

Nicky sat back on his heels. "But...can I…?"

Joe glared at him without energy, at those ridiculous tight pants and the glittery silver shirt. He could still smell fear all over him.

"Just get lost." Weak, but his voice snarled enough to give him some comfort.

He looked at his red-tipped fingers, rubbed them together, felt the sticky slip of drying blood. That smug bastard vampire, Merrick, bit him. His fangs cut through Joe’s skin. His venom choked the life out of him.

But Merrick couldn't have bit him. Because he was still alive.

Fangs liked to bray about being the superior species, and the venom was their proof. Like a snake's poison it hid in ducts behind their fangs until they bit down. Meant to sedate prey and make the feed easier, it intoxicated humans. Like ecstasy, or some other designer drug. Reportedly the world brightened, sensations intensified, pleasure amplified. A human bit by a fang lost time as they floated in a euphoric haze.

Their pets, their Devoted, were always under its spell. Once bitten, humans were addicted.

Merrick's intention had been to nibble on Joe enough to get him addicted. To have him crawl to the fangs' underground streets on hands and knees to beg for more.

Merrick made a mistake.

Venom was ecstasy for humans, but death to werewolves. Every wolf, every time, within minutes of being exposed. Something in their blood reacted to it, some part of the .005% difference in DNA from werewolves to humans. The white coats who studied supernatural sciences wrote long, smart-sounding bullshit articles that basically said, 'yeah, we don't get it either.' Same as everything else they tried to understand about the two youngest races.

Werewolves themselves had a huge verbal library of mythology, but even in the ridiculous stories of origins and magic and prophetic heroes that Joe hated, there was no mention of a wolf who survived venom.

For Joe to still be there, even with his slow and sick heartbeat, his aching body and numb neck, made no sense at all.

He looked up at the world he should have left behind. He drew in a slow, harsh breath and gripped the corner of the dumpster beside him.

Nicky appeared at the edge of his vision. He reached for Joe’s arm. "I can--"

" _Don't_ touch me." Joe jerked his arm away and fell back before he could pick himself up. His spine thumped hard against the dumpster, and ouch. Damn it. "I told you to get lost."

Nicky sat back on his heels, his hands raised in surrender.

Joe gripped the dumpster and hauled, but only managed to get his legs curled under him. His stomach heaved, and he shut his eyes and fought the urge to throw up.

"How long have I been here?" he asked the side of the dumpster.

"Maybe…maybe five minutes since you... you died. You _died,_ I checked you. I was going to move you. I was...”

Joe looked over at him. Another accent, a different one from the fangs. Thicker in his voice, which made sense. The fangs had probably left their homes decades ago. Still, he was surprised he hadn’t noticed it until now.

And jesus. What the hell did it matter?

Nicky smiled, a stutter of an expression that vanished fast. “I don't know what I was going to do.” He stared at Joe openly. "You're a werewolf?"

Denial sprang to his mouth, just the way he planned it if ever a human spoke those words to him. Common sense bit it back. Nicky didn't seem to be the brightest guy, but he didn't miss what Merrick's bite did to him. There was no way to hide that Joe wasn’t human.

He focused on his breath. In and out, nice and deep, to get the spinning world to slow. But the stale air felt solid in his lungs and breathing made him feel even less balanced.

"I didn't know. I would have…I didn't mean for…” Nicky drew in a breath to cut off his own rambles. “You have brown eyes."

Joe grimaced.

"You don't look like any wolf I've ever seen."

Joe stuck his elbow out.

Nicky leaned in to grasp his arm instantly, and helped him balance as he pushed to his feet.

It was a lurching joke, but eventually the cobwebs cleared and his feet stopped dancing under him. He had to lean on Nicky more than he wanted to, but he stayed on his feet.

"I'm…different.” He risked a glance over at the human once he was steady. “That's all."

Nicky broke into a bright smile, and the remains of fear vanished from his face just like that. “You are. You don't look like anyone I've ever..." His eyes widened. "Wait, different. Is that why you're not dead anymore?"

Joe frowned and looked away again.

Since he was old enough to understand Leon's warnings about secrecy, he knew he was different from the humans who raised him and surrounded him. He was made aware of it constantly. Years later, alone and searching, he learned that he was also different from other wolves.

He didn't have the rangy, lean build of most natural-born wolves. He didn't smell like a normal wolf, either born or changed.

And his eyes were brown.

With that one difference Joe could pass as a human. That one change meant that he could be out on the city streets after nightfall, when any other wolf would be caught and arrested for breaking curfew laws.

But he had every other wolf trait. He had the heightened senses, the strength. Come the full moon he howled and furred out like any other wolf. His blood was their blood, despite how he looked.

Or so he always thought. But now, after taking a wound that would have killed any werewolf, he was still breathing. His too-slow pulse beat in his ears. The rusted scent of the blood scabbed on his throat tickled his nose, and pain pressed in on his chest with every breath.

Pain meant he was alive.

Nicky leaned in when Joe didn't answer. He inspected the wound on Joe’s throat. "I think the bleeding's stopped. Fang punctures heal fast." He drew back, smiling.

Joe grimaced at that smile. He didn't trust pretty in any form. Close, friendly, smiling at him like that, it was even harder to take. Especially with the vampire's voice echoed in his ear. _This dirty human. This is better than me?_

Joe himself, he wasn’t unattractive, he figured. People didn’t run when they saw. Now that he had rid himself of the thin jumpiness of addiction, he didn’t get the dark looks he had for years. He was still _dirty,_ of course. Too poor to be fashionable, and his hair and beard were outgrown and shaggy these days. 

But there was nothing ‘pretty’ about him. Pretty was what people were before reality got hold of them and battered them into something more worn. For all he was barely in his thirties, reality had throttled the shit out of Joe.

He had no patience for anyone who hadn’t been through that battering.

Suddenly, he heard an echo of something else the fang had said. Something that faded in and out as Joe lay there dying:

_Just the next in a long line. Every one of you beasts will be gone soon._

He dug the photograph out of his pocket and frowned down at Pete’s face. His yellow eyes. Next in a long line, Merrick had said.

Joe had a list of names at home. Missing wolves. A long fucking line.

_Every one of you will be gone soon._

He'd heard those words for a reason. He was still alive for a reason. It didn't matter how he survived. He had work to do.

"I have to get home.” He braced himself, but his knees threatened to sag the moment he let go of Nicky. He had to grab the human’s arm to stay on his feet.

Nicky accepted his weight with another easy smile. “Where to?”

“Yeah, no offense, pet, but I'm not about to tell you where I live. Just give me a few minutes, I can get there on my own.”

Nicky huffed, and glanced back behind them, maybe checking for returning vampires.

When he turned back to Joe his smile was gone.

“I left.”

Joe frowned.

“I used to be a _Devoted_ ,” he said, a hint of reproach in that last word. “But I left.”

Joe wanted to laugh, but his chest hurt too much to risk it.

Pets didn't leave. They floated around in their venom haze until they got too old to be pretty, and then the vampires retired them. No one walked away from it.

But Nicky’s gaze held a shadow. Some hint of ghosts, something deep. Joe couldn't see a lie in it. And he was damn good at sniffing out liars. The pale crystal of Nicky’s eyes felt heavy at that moment in a way people couldn’t fake. He seemed, for a moment, as ragged and lost as Joe sometimes felt.

For that one, jarring moment, Joe couldn't help but think that he really was a beautiful man.

“There's a bar. Euclid Av...no.” Joe shook his head even as he spoke. A strange human with the marks of the Devoted in his neck wasn't the kind of person who needed to know about the bar. No matter what ghosts he carried with him.

Besides, Joe didn't want to face Leon and Nile this way, shaking and weak with blood drying down his neck. He needed to clean up. He needed answers, not more questions.

He had to go see Andy.

He met Nicky’s expectant eyes and grimaced. “I need to get to the island.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we meet the Big Bad, Andy and Quynh, and Nile and her pops. And none of it's especially pleasant. 
> 
> Unnecessary author's note: I fancast Ron Cephas Jones as Papa Freeman in my head.

Sebastien pushed the small buzzer, ignoring - as he had for the last twenty minutes - the constant stream of words that followed behind him. 

There was no instant answer to the buzzer. This close to sunrise, whoever was watching the doors must have assumed that any vampires who went out had already returned. 

"--to know how that creature has the…I mean, the sheer _audacity_. To walk around as if he were…" Merrick caught up to him as he spoke. He strode past Sebastien and lay his finger on the buzzer for a good ten seconds. "Idiots. Don't they realize the sun is coming?" 

Sebastien glanced behind them at the touch of pale light over the glowing panels coating the streets around them. 

He couldn't hide the curl of his lip at the sight of those light panels. Sebastien hated the lights. He didn't know a single vampire that liked them. Their eyes worked better in darkness. Sebastien and Merrick, among others, had begun to take their rare evening walks further downtown, to the darker, grim streets that the city couldn't afford to light up. 

But in public, Meta embraced the panels with graciousness and gratitude, and so her tribe followed her example. 

"As if he wasn't an _animal_ ," Merrick went on as Sebastien tried to ignore him. “As if he's allowed to even exist on the same street as us, much less raise his hand against me.” He sniffed and prodded at his wounded nose. 

"Stop. You'll make it worse." 

"Worse?" Merrick scowled but dropped his hand. "Is it bad? I swear, if that thing has deformed me, I'll…" 

"Kill him?" Sebastien suggested, frosty. 

Merrick leaned on the buzzer again. He grinned, quick as a flash, and ignored Sebastien’s tone. "I suppose I did get revenge. I only wish I'd known it was coming so I could have enjoyed it more. Because really, Sebastien. A _werewolf_ , on our..." 

Thankfully the sound of the door opening distracted him before Sebastien lost patience. He cared deeply for Merrick, they were brothers in every meaningful way, but what he had just done went above and beyond even his normal lunacy. 

He moved into the dim, windowless light of the tunnel entrance, Merrick right beside him. 

Sebastien didn't know the Devoted who stood behind the door by name. A female, red-haired and tall, dressed to show off her various attributes. She gave him a quick smile, but her eyes moved to Merrick and stayed there, awed but braced. 

No surprise. Everyone knew to be careful around Merrick lately. Bloody and ranting as he was, he was only slightly more wild than usual. 

Sebastien didn't return her smile. He took Merrick's arm to keep him from railing at the poor girl, and they crossed the short tunnel to the stairs and headed further down. The girl would lock the door behind them and keep watch until the sun was up. 

The underground existed before the vampires came. The stairs they climbed down led to the original street level of the city. After a fire nearly wiped Seattle off the map two hundred years ago, humans simply built over the damaged buildings. They created a new city by burying the old one. 

Sebastien sometimes thought that there was something to be taken from that. Something about the way time erased and replaced, but the past was always there, underfoot. Forgotten but not gone. 

Perhaps just something about the dangers of constructing major cities out of wood. He never claimed to be a philosopher. 

The main entrance into their small city was the narrow stairway Sebastien and Merrick entered through, with its smooth, rounded ceiling and dark paint and needlessly dramatic torches. At the bottom of the stairs, the small city of the vampires stretched out in front of them. 

On either side of the low-ceilinged trail that formed a walkway through their territory, the buried buildings and basements had been turned into homes. Simple, small and contained, but lavishly stocked and comfortable. The Devoted lived in the ones nearest the entrance, serving as guards. If any humans were to get past the locked entry and the cameras, the Devoted would stop them before vampires were ever subjected to them. 

No one felt endangered underground. The humans were too in awe to invade. Even the wild-eyed day walkers who railed about supernaturals being unholy monsters. The most they ever did was picket the entryway, and even then they gave way to any vampire who came and went. 

One evening, years ago, a young girl with hate burning in her eyes pressed a Bible into Sebastien’s hand as he emerged from the underground. For a moment she seemed triumphant, but when the Bible didn't send Sebastien smoking into a puddle or babbling for Almighty forgiveness, her triumph vanished. She skittered to the side with the rest of them. 

He still had that Bible. He'd read it a couple of times. As literature went it wasn't particularly enthralling. 

"Sebastien." 

He blinked. The memory of that girl - she couldn't have been fifteen years old, but so full of hate - was replaced by Merrick's petulant face. 

Merrick tugged Sebastien to face him. He lifted his chin and drew in a breath. "Tell me. How bad is it?" 

Sebastien studied his vain brother. Despite his anger over how the night had gone he couldn’t help a faint smile. 

"Maybe…" He reached out and pinched his fingers at the bridge of Merrick's nose. He crooked it to the left just a bit. “There.” 

Merrick grunted and went cross-eyed trying to see any changes. 

Sebastien stifled his smile. "By some miracle I think you've survived maiming." 

Merrick wrinkled his nose experimentally. "It's not funny." 

“Of course not.” Sebastien turned and moved down the road to hide his expression. 

Meta's home stood at the very end of the straight street, far from the entrance to the city. It had been a bank before the fire. Its walls were stronger and thicker than the other homes underground, and its old vaults made up the lower level where Meta's two most trusted sons lived. 

Her door was the only one that locked. Meta valued her security and privacy. 

Merrick took out his key and let them in. Still sniffling and poking at his wounded nose, he started for the stairs. 

Sebastien caught his arm. "You're not going to bed." 

"I'm not?" 

Down a blunt hallway stood Meta's rooms. A meeting room, a feeding room, and her own bedroom, where no one was ever allowed but her two closest sons. 

Sebastien led Merrick down that short hallway. 

"Why are we disturbing her at this hour?" Merrick huffed a loud breath but went along without resisting. "Oh, the wolf. I think you're reading too much into--" 

"You have absolutely no idea what you saw, do you?" 

Merrick frowned, but followed without further protest. 

The heavy door opened as they got closer. 

Meta emerged, and a warm smile greeted her two sons as they approached. She had waited up for them, it seemed. Waited for Merrick, more likely. His erratic behavior had started to worry even Meta. 

"You're late tonight." 

Sebastien released Merrick's arm and reached out instantly. She took his hand and grasped, and the tension Sebastien had felt most of the evening leaked away. 

Vampires were known to be beautiful, but in Sebastien's opinion Meta put each of the vampires in her tribe to shame. Unlike most of them, she had gray in her hair when she was turned. But the signs of age that were forever frozen on her face added nothing but a deep, calm sense of wisdom. Her eyes were remarkably clear and blue, with red flecks fine as glitter. Those eyes could show any emotion: show it and project it and make it felt by anyone lucky enough to look on her. When her mouth curved into a smile, which it did often, she seemed young and vibrant. She was slim, not very tall, but her every step and gesture came with a compact grace that Sebastien envied. 

Most other vampires seemed gaudy beside her, in Sebastien's eyes. Too young and insubstantial. Including Sebastien himself, and he was considered one of their more attractive. 

Meta moved back into her room, guiding Sebastien in before releasing his hand. "Come in, both of you. Tell me what you've been doing out so late.” 

Just like the woman herself, her rooms were spare and dignified. She believed in simplicity. The furniture was simple but heavy, old pieces with hundreds of years of history to them. Her decorations were few. A large bed, a small writing desk, a heavy bookshelf filled with her favorite books. She had a fondness for knowledge, science and math and philosophy. 

Sebastien sat down carefully on the straight-backed chair pulled out from her desk. 

Merrick dropped onto the bed with a huff of air. He held out his sleeve, showing off bloodstains with a petulant sniffle. "This blood is mine." 

Meta moved to him, instantly focused. She leaned in and studied him. "Your face. You were hurt." 

Merrick sniffed, trying out his wounded nose. "You won't believe me when I tell you--" 

Sebastien spoke quickly, otherwise the story would have focused on all the least important elements. "We came across a werewolf tonight." 

She straightened and faced him in one smooth turn. "Tonight?" 

"Out walking the street." Sebastien met her gaze solemnly. "His eyes weren't wolf eyes." 

She frowned. 

"They were brown." 

Something flickered over her face. Her eyes skirted away from Sebastien, then back. He knew exactly what was going through her head, the possibilities this awoke. 

"You're sure?" She held up a hand, not letting him answer. “Of course you are. Perhaps he was freshly turned? No." 

Sebastien shook his head even as she waved away the possibility. They were over a week past the last full moon. Any humans who might have been turned that night would have been yellow-eyed the next morning. 

Merrick answered from the bed. "His blood was…" He sighed like a man reliving a far-off fond memory. "He was a born wolf. You can always taste the years." 

Her eyes stayed on Sebastien. "Then this wolf is dead." 

"Yes." Sebastien frowned at Merrick. 

Merrick grinned back. 

Meta stood for a moment in thought. As usual with her, though, she reacted quickly. "Merrick, you should feed. It will help the wound, and if you've lost blood you shouldn't sleep without more." 

Merrick climbed to his feet, his movements heavy. "I saw Andrew as we were coming in." He grinned, the attack and his outrage forgotten just like that. At least for the moment. "He looked lonely." 

Meta smiled, small and fond. "Go on." 

"Might not be home to sleep," Merrick directed at Sebastien, wagging his eyebrows. He vanished through the door. 

Silence fell. 

Sebastien sat watching his Mother, willing to wait as long as she needed to put her thoughts together. 

He needed the silence, really. There was a lot to sort through. Nicky. Merrick's increasingly worrying behavior. 

The wolf. 

The strange, fierce wolf with defiance in his brown eyes. He hadn't feared them, hadn’t been intimidated in the slightest. He was scared only after Merrick bit, after he knew he was about to die. 

Sebastien had never seen anything like it. Like him. Werewolves were dull, stupid creatures. Everyone knew that. Meta said it, which made it unshakeable fact. There was barely enough life in them to keep them going between full moons. They were workers, that was all. They worked and lived in squalor on their tiny island, and bred more wolves. 

But Sebastien met a wolf tonight, and he seemed vibrant and strong. Intelligent, if rash and temperamental. No more so than Merrick, though. 

And that was now lost. The unusual wolf was dead. 

Nobody underground would mourn, of course. But Sebastien was struggling with it. 

Meta moved to her bed and sat, straight-backed. She stayed silent, her eyes searching Sebastien and then drifting to the wall behind him. 

He cleared his throat, mostly to distract himself. He didn't like thinking about any of this. "Something's bothering you." 

“Mm.” Meta released a breath. She focused on Sebastien and smiled, contained but sincere. She held out a hand. 

Sebastien rose and crossed to her before he was consciously aware of it. He took his Mother's hand. 

"Merrick is smart, but too passionate these days. His mind isn't careful like yours. Can I trust a task to you?" 

"Of course." 

"Will you search for this wolf?" 

Sebastien frowned in some surprise. He hadn't thought she would worry about a body. Of course it was a crime to kill anyone, even a wolf. The marks in the wolf’s throat would give away what had killed him. But while it was possible that Meta would have been questioned over a dead human, no dead wolf would find any champions aboveground. 

No one would look for his killers. 

She waved a hand when she saw his expression. "I realize that the creature is dead and of no concern to us. But if he was from this city and he somehow passed as a human, then someone will know him. Someone may mourn his death. I need information. Can you get it for me?" 

Sebastien smiled again. It was impossible not to. "I'll find him." 

"Good." She let him go. "Find out where he's from. Find out his pack's name. Find out all you can. You remember the stories, you know why this is important." She studied Sebastien for a moment, then smiled. "For now, go sleep." 

He obeyed instantly, moving to the door. "Goodnight, Mother." 

"Goodnight. Sebastien?" 

He looked back from the doorway. 

"What were you doing when you came across this wolf?" 

"What else? I was trying to keep Merrick under control." 

"Nicky again." 

He nodded. 

She sighed. "I keep hoping he’ll let that man go." 

They all hoped as much. Nicky was an embarrassment for their tribe. He had caused a disturbance months ago that hadn't smoothed over yet. Even Meta had been fond of him and had been shocked when he left. Nothing shocked Meta. 

Still. Sebastien knew Merrick: he never forgot anything unless it benefited him to forget. 

"I think he's getting worse." 

"I'll speak to him." She met his eyes. "Take him with you to find this wolf's history. Keep him away from Nicky. A distraction will do him good." 

Sebastien nodded instantly and left his Mother's room. 

He trusted Meta's decisions without question, but doubted that this would work. No distraction was enough to drive a desire from Merrick's mind, and after seeing Nicky push him away, seeing him hide behind that defiant, willful man who turned out to be a wolf... 

That would only make things worse. 

* * *

Luckily Andy was home and answered the door on the third series of fist-pounding thumps. 

"Jesus fuck, Joe.” 

He moved in past her, slow but steady on his feet. He gave the place a quick once-over to make sure none of the other wolves in the building were hanging around. Whidbey Island was a social place, and this home was usually the center of activity. A quick sniff told him the place was empty, though. Just Andy, and the expected scent of a human in the back of the apartment. 

She shut the door behind him. “I was waiting for you to call me. Don’t suppose you had any luck with Pete…” 

The bemusement in her vivid yellow eyes drained away fast when she took a closer look at him, at the blood drying down his shirt. 

She drew in a breath, going stiff against the door. "What's wrong?" 

He laughed, hoarse, wondering where to even start. 

Andy more blatantly sniffed the air, and her mouth creased. "What the hell is that? What happened?" 

"Is Quynh up for a chat?" 

"What? What does Quynh have to--" 

He tugged the collar of his shirt down, showing the unmistakable red gashes in his throat. 

The hint of color in her cheeks washed out. “Oh god.” 

“Can you get her? Something weird is happening.” 

“God, Joe, not you.” She reached out a hand like she wanted to get closer. 

“Please, Andy.” 

She backed up and took off down the short hallway. 

Joe dropped into a creaky armchair before his legs collapsed under him. 

He managed to make the walk across the bridge and to Andy’s building by himself. It had been a long, unsteady trip, but staggering on his own was better than inviting a gaudy human pet along. 

And from the strength of Nicky’s objections to that, Joe had a feeling that getting rid of him sooner rather than later was smart. 

Andy’s place was typical of Whidbey Island apartments: a box, with hard floors, low ceilings and small windows. Claustrophobic, sterile, but decent enough. Nicer, Joe had to admit, than the places he found for his rain dogs inside the city itself. 

Andy's was nicer furnished than most on the island, anyway: she was born human, turned years ago, so she didn't have a pack to send money to. She had no guilt issues about buying decent furniture and a TV and pictures for her walls: the kinds of things other wolves considered luxuries. Of course, she could only afford to buy secondhand. Everything was mismatched and a little tattered. But her place didn't have the bare white-walled cell feeling of most pack wolves' homes. 

Joe rubbed unsteady hands over his face, listening for his next too-hard heartbeat as he had been every moment of silence in the last hour or so. From the back of the apartment came the low murmur of voices as Andy convinced her girlfriend to leave the safety of the bedroom. 

Andy was the closest thing to a friend Joe had among wolves. Most werewolves he knew well were rain dogs. Illegals. The ones who came to him for help, for housing and a job and a way to live in secret in Seattle, instead of on the island. The rain dogs thought Joe was strange, but they still relied on him. The others, the respectable Whidbey Island wolves, wrinkled their noses at Joe's scent and whispered about his mysterious missing pack and kept their distance. 

Andy was different. She grew up human, learning to fight for herself. There was life in her that born werewolves rarely had once they left pack lands and made it to the city. 

Joe met her weeks after her change, when she was desperate for some help transitioning into her miserable new life. There were no lessons for the newly bitten on how to become a werewolf, just a lifetime of laws that humans knew about but paid no attention to until they were given no choice. 

Joe and Andy had saved each other back then, and that was no exaggeration. Her from despair, him from needles in his arm and endless gaping black depression. 

He looked up from his nervous study of his own slow heartbeats as he heard footsteps. 

Andy emerged with Quynh in tow. 

The two of them were a study in contrasts, in a way that always made Joe feel uncomfortable. Andy was a stunner. She was leaner and taller than most natural-born wolves, but like them she never bothered with makeup. Simple short hairstyles, clothes made more for durability than style. Still, she was fiercely beautiful. The vivid yellow of werewolf eyes only made her more striking. 

Quynh was human. Vietnamese in origin, shorter and even slighter than Andy, fond of stylish clothes and makeup, never without a full face on even though in Joe's experience she rarely left their apartment. 

Quynh was the very rare human who didn’t seem to care that her mate of choice was a wolf, banished to Whidbey as a second-class citizen. Quynh had simply made the island her home as well. 

Joe side-eyed her all the same. 

Andy was a wolf. She worked shitty government-assigned day labor and paid inflated housing fees for her little apartment. Quynh didn't work. There were a lot of rumors about what Quynh did, and why she lived basically off the grid on an island whose every other resident was there by order of law. 

There was a lot of mystery around Quynh. 

He didn't care about that, though. Maybe she was some fugitive criminal, maybe she was a shut-in just enjoying a free ride. Whatever. What Joe did care about was that she could have made twice Andy's income at any job, simply because she was human. 

Instead, Andy worked her ass off for both of them. 

But Andy never complained, so Joe figured it wasn't his business. Quynh seemed to love her, at least. More to the point, Quynh knew a hell of a lot about certain things that normal humans had no business knowing. She knew things about wolf history that Joe didn't know, and she knew even more about fangs. 

"I got bit," Joe reported as the woman herself came in on quiet feet behind Andy. 

The couple sat down on the worn couch, side by side, two pairs of eyes locked on him. Andy swallowed, studying him with too-bright eyes as if positive she was witnessing her friend's last moments. 

Quynh frowned. "Just now? On the island?" 

"Downtown.” Joe met Andy's eyes. “More than an hour ago.” 

“What?” 

“I’m…still here,” he added needlessly. Maybe as a reminder to himself and his reluctantly beating heart. 

Andy gaped at him. “That's not possible.” 

“No shit.” 

"You sure it was a real vampire? I mean they sell fangs at Hot Topic, and humans love to play dress-up." 

Joe shot her a narrow-eyed look. An awkward moment passed. 

"Can I see?" Quynh asked finally. 

He sighed but moved to the couch. He sat on the arm and tugged the collar of his t-shirt down again. 

She reached out, warm fingertips drifting over the numb patch and dried blood on his skin. "Who was it?" 

"Conceited prissy fucker who deserved a goddamned beat--" 

She raised her eyebrows, lips curling in amusement. 

He mustered a smile. "Name was Merrick." 

Quynh looked back at the wound, amusement draining. "Merrick. Meta's closest, her right-hand son. Conceited is an understatement.” 

Meta’s closest child, which made him crown prince of the entire fucking tribe. It figured. That asshole's ego had to come from somewhere. 

Said a hell of a lot about the standards underground. 

“Anyway, that's it. I got chomped, I'm still here. But something is...weird.” Joe glanced over at Andy. "How do I smell to you?" 

"Like you're dying. Like it's eating at you. And you're…fading, maybe?" Andy frowned. "You don't smell _enough_." 

He nodded, grimacing. He was starting to pick up the changes. The sweetness, foul but barely there, like he was rotting underneath his skin. It was faint. Too faint, considering it was his own body. 

“Well.” Quynh's hand dropped from his neck. "You won't die." 

"How do you know?" 

"Because you haven't yet." 

"Then what the hell is happening? Why didn't I die?" 

She leaned back. Andy's hand slid around her arm. They sat together, wolf and human, both studying him in the same thoughtful silence. 

He waited until he couldn't anymore: a good four, five seconds. "Come on, Quynh. This must have happened before. It's a big world." 

"Not that I've ever heard." 

He deflated, moving away from the couch and dropping heavily into a chair. "What the hell." 

“There’s always been something strange about you,” Quynh said after a moment. “Wolf history isn’t exactly filled with unique people standing out from the rest. Any differences are worth noting, and you've always been _very_ different.” 

His head dropped back against the back of the chair. He frowned up at the water stains on the ceiling. 

Wolf history was filled with packs and families and standing together. There were packs in every country in the world, and thousands of human-born wolves changed during unfortunate full moons. No matter the race, the gender, the region, the story, they were all yellow-eyed and drawn to packs. And they always fucking died when a vampire bit them. 

Except him. There was something _different_ about him, had been his entire life. 

Since he was old enough to understand, he had felt that difference like chronic pain that never got any better. It was alienating and it was lonely. It was a curse that had him sitting on a worn armchair feeling the air sliding through his lungs thick as honey, with no idea what was happening or how he would come out the other side of it. 

"There is one story that might be relevant." Quynh's eyes went to Andy, her words almost hesitant. 

Andy nodded encouragement instantly, reaching out and brushing her sleeve. 

Joe rolled his eyes. "What story?" 

"It's old. Wolves have a version, but this variation is told by vampires only." Quynh dragged her eyes away from her girlfriend and back to him. "Do you know the story of the Creation?" 

His expression hardened. "If I want religious bullshit I'll let Leon drag me to church." 

"It has nothing to do with religion." 

He got to his feet. "Spiritual lessons through magic and mythology, how's that not religion? It's got nothing to do with me." 

"That's the only relevant story I know." 

"Then thanks for nothing." He moved around the couch and stalked to the door. “Forget it, I’ll figure it out--“ 

"Hey." Footsteps came up fast behind him. 

He turned back, frustration making him sharper than he meant. "I need a real answer, Andy. I should be dead. I feel like I'm dying now. I have to know what's happening, and this won't help." 

Andy approached, moving with him to the door. Her voice was low. "They really believe those old creation stories, you know. Vampires even more than wolves, Quynh says. That group of moldy old fangs in Romania or wherever the hell, the ones even the other fangs are afraid of? They think the creation is genuine history. And some of those guys were around a couple thousand years ago." 

"That doesn't make them right." 

“True enough. Can’t believe a thing a fang says either way.” Andy paused and regarded him. She could be strange and moody – one of the things he liked most about her – but she always had a needle-sharp intensity that could look right through someone. "Are you alright? And yeah, I know it's a stupid question." 

"Hell if I know. If I'm gonna die…if it's just taking its time, I need to know. I can't…" He lowered his voice, glancing back towards Quynh. "I can't do it…" 

"At home, I know." Andy frowned. "You can always stay here if you need to, wait it out. Quynh says you won't, though." 

"Quynh has no idea what's happening." 

"But she says you won't." 

Which made it solid fact, in Andy’s eyes. 

Joe barely kept from rolling his eyes again. He turned to the door. "Forget it. Don't worry about me." 

Andy snorted. "Too late, asshole." 

He almost smiled at that, but another thought occurred to him that wiped any amusement away. He looked out past Andy. "You said Merrick is Meta's right-hand guy?" 

Quynh nodded from the couch. 

"Before I died he said something about--" 

"You what?" 

He glanced back at Andy. "Apparently I died. For a minute." 

"Jesus, Joe." 

He waved a hand. "Doesn't matter. He said something when he realized what I was. He said I was just next in a long line. He talked like there was a plan in the works. 'Your kind is about to see your last full moon,' or some dramatic crap like that." 

Andy sucked in a breath. “I knew it,” she hissed out, golden eyes lighting with new fierceness. “I _knew_. I've said it for months now. Those bastards are up to something, something concrete. All these missing wolves, and Meta and Governor Broadbent being all buddy-buddy. I knew--” 

“Great.” Joe cut her off fast. "Just listen. It sounds like they mean it to involve the Whidbey wolves, too. Every wolf in Seattle." 

She nodded, terse and sharp. “They'll hear about it. Don't you worry about that, I'll record first thing after work. I'll talk to every wolf I see tomorrow.” 

He grimaced but nodded. 

Andy would record and broadcast this new conspiracy theory, and it would get lost among her thousand other theories. With no details to offer, it would be the same as her current favorites: that Meta was getting close to the governor in order to usurp his position, or that the recently missing wolves were being kidnapped and delivered underground for her tribe to eat, like living party treats. 

Joe liked the hell out of Andy, but god help her when she got into full conspiracy mode. 

"Joe." Quynh stood. She studied him with a new kind of curiosity in her eyes as she approached the two of them. "Did Merrick bleed at all?" 

He frowned, but it softened when he remembered the satisfying crunch of cartilage against his temple. The fang's nose. "Sure as hell did." 

Andy grinned fiercely. “That's my boy.” 

"Did his blood get on you?" 

"Probably. Broke his nose, and it happened before he bit me." 

Quynh studied him and the bloody skin of his throat. “So his blood might have entered your wound. Your bloodstream." 

He shrugged. “Wasn’t my first concern after I…” He trailed off, staring at her. 

She regarded him silently. 

"Okay. No." He stepped back, air stuck in his throat as he figured out where her mind was taking her. "No. That's bullshit. That can't happen." 

"Because wolves always die. But you haven't died. So maybe it can happen." 

Andy frowned between them. "What can happen?" 

Joe growled, baring his teeth at Quynh. "No. You're wrong. And even if it was possible, I thought…" 

He wasn't dead. His body was changing under his skin. His breathing was shallow and too slow. Christ. 

His voice was weaker when he finished. "I thought their blood had to be swallowed." 

"Not always. Merrick is older, his blood has a lot of power." 

The shock of realization made Andy suck in a breath. "Whoa. Hang on." 

Joe turned, looking away from the horror spreading over Andy's face. Trying to ignore the same horror rising inside of him. 

"Screw that. You're wrong, Quynh. You're just...you’re reaching for anything because for once you don't know what's going on.” He felt the door behind him as he backed away from them. He turned and grabbed the knob and threw it open. “Just forget about it. Forget I ever came here." 

* * *

Freeman's took up a small corner on Euclid Avenue. The end of Euclid, where things got a little shabbier. Away from the tourist spots and blinding lights of downtown Seattle. 

It was an unassuming bar: no sign over the door, no vivid neon broadcasting the names of beers. Just dingy windows and a heavy wooden door. The people who went to Freeman's already knew it was there. No one stumbled in. 

Everyone knew it was run by wolf-lovers. The fact that they opened for daytime hours proved as much. More and more businesses every year were shuttering entirely during the days, ignoring the usually broke werewolf and daywalker clientele. But Freeman's shut its doors at night more often than not. 

Lost a lot of potential business that way, but then the business had never been the point. 

Their daytime regulars were well mixed, about half humans and half wolves. The humans were daywalkers, but not the Bible-thumping religious variety who thought vampires and wolves were devils sent to earth to punish humanity or whatever. Instead, they were the ones who worked the dirty jobs, construction or trucking or whatever, that were so much easier in daylight that they hadn't become nocturnal along with the rest of the world. They were the kind of hard-working people who didn't much care about the supernatural races, the same way they didn't much care about anything else that didn't directly impact their lives. 

The humans at Freeman's were pretty much the only ones worth a shit, in Joe's opinion. 

Nile was back behind the bar as he came in, leaning against the edge and watching the small television on the wall. Sudden tension squared her shoulders, though she gave no other sign that she even heard the door open. 

One of their regulars sat at the other end of the bar, fused to his stool and his pint of beer. The only customer in the place so early in the day when most were still working. No doubt Nile knew the guy's name, but Joe didn't. Roofer, he thought. Landscaper, maybe. Good hands, never clean however hard the guy scrubbed. 

The guy nodded at Joe, who nodded back before steeling himself and facing his sister. 

Nile didn't turn from the television, and she spoke without even looking at Joe. “You can just go to hell without even saying a word.” 

Joe tried a smile. She sounded serious, but it was hard to tell sometimes. “Having a bad day?” 

She twisted and looked back, and he had to contain a wince. Yeah, she was serious. She had bags like smudges under her eyes and she looked like shit, which was hard for someone as beautiful as Nile to pull off. 

"No word. Since yesterday morning, no word. You were supposed to be here for dinner." 

Joe moved behind the bar. "Where's Leon?" 

Nile nodded upwards, a jerk of her chin. "You should let him sleep. He was up all night. Waiting." 

Joe glanced over at the roofer, who was watching them without much pretense. He grabbed Nile's arm. "Come on." 

She yanked her arm back, but stomped after him. Joe pushed through the door behind the bar into the narrow hallway that led either downstairs to basement storage or upstairs to the apartment. 

His neck was throbbing. It hadn't stopped since last night, but it got worse as he tensed up. He turned in the corridor and fixed Nile with a glare, though his heart wasn't in it. "I am a grown man. I made it clear that I wasn't going to be under any curfews. I never said I'd come by every night." 

"What kind of answer is that?" 

Nile was eight years younger than Joe, slender and shorter than him by only a couple of inches. She had her dad’s height and darker skin, but in every other feature she was her mother. She could be all charm, with a smile that changed her entire face and big brown eyes that were warm and open, but she could also come across more formidable than any skinny human had any right to. 

People loved Nile. When she smiled, they always smiled right back. But Joe earned a side of her that people rarely ever saw. He made that smile vanish, and her warm dark eyes stared him down in anger more often than not these days. 

"This isn't about a _curfew_ , Joe. This is about Dad knowing you're going out somewhere dangerous. It’s about him being terrified you’re gonna end up caught, or dead in a damn ditch, and he's the last person in the world who deserves this." 

"I've told him not to worry." 

"Wow, and don’t you wish it was that easy?" Nile’s voice was low, her expression incredulous. "Then I wouldn't have to sit here and watch him drive himself closer to the grave every time--" 

"Oh, come on." He moved past her and headed towards the back. "It's too early for drama." 

She grabbed his sleeve and yanked at him. "I'm serious.” 

He wheeled around fast. "Let me go." 

"Screw you, Joe." She met his eyes for a hard moment. Then she unhooked her fingers from his sleeve and dropped her hand. 

Joe stepped back out of her reach and tugged at his shirt. It was the only one he had with an actual collar, and Nile had almost pulled it far enough down to see the healing gashes on his throat. 

Almost, but not quite. 

He glared at her, but the fury on her own face made his temper ease back. Joe knew her well enough to see behind the anger, to see the hurt that meant she wasn't only speaking on Leon's behalf when she talked about staying up all night worrying. 

For a moment, he recalled the night before, when he thought he was dying. When all he wanted was to find his sister and hold on tight to her. 

He almost wanted to apologize. He could feel the words forming in his throat, even. But they got stuck there. It wouldn't do him any good: he wouldn't tell her why he didn't show last night, and she would never accept anything but the full truth. 

Funny. He would've thought almost dying would be enough to change a person, but he still felt like the same miserable jerk he’d been the day before. 

And just like yesterday he couldn't face that disappointed look in Nile's eyes for long without giving in at least a little. 

"I'll apologize to him." 

"Don't bother, unless you mean it." 

Her anger made Joe ache in an old, familiar way. 

Nile hated being serious with him. She hated being responsible and solemn and having to look out for everyone, and she damn well didn’t deserve it. But she hadn't been left with any choice. Her mom died when she was a kid, their dad had to retire after being hurt. But worst of all was the fact that fate and Nile’s mother had brought Joe into their lives as a traumatized child, to be Nile and Leon's burden. 

Nile had never had a choice but to grow up too fast and learn to deal with the men in her family who were no good at taking care of themselves. She deserved so much better, Joe knew. And it was entirely Joe’s fault she had the life she did. 

Joe was nothing but bad luck to his dad and his sister. He had been from the start. But as many times as he tried to leave, to spare Nile and Leon his bullshit, he always came back. 

And, for some reason, they always let him. 

He didn't answer her. He moved to the door, and she didn't stop him again. 

The stairway was narrow, the same peeling beige paint it had always been. Same carpeting, faded gray, thin and worn, almost gone in the middle of each step. Nothing in the place ever changed. 

Leon's apartment was a lot like his bar - a lot like Leon himself. Old and tired more than age would account for, but comfortable. A simple square of a living room with mismatched furniture, cramped with two decades’ worth of possessions. Pictures hung on every wall and sat on most available surfaces. Books by the dozens were piled in stacks on leaning bookshelves. Records that vastly outnumbered the books filled the bottom shelves. 

It was plain, but there was pride in it. Not a hint of dust, not a dirty dish or a misplaced book. 

The pale light from the kitchen window poured in through one doorway. In the back, behind the worn couch, a hallway led to Leon's bedroom, and Nile's across from it. The third bedroom, which still had an ungrateful teenage boy's racecar wallpaper and undersized furniture set and hadn't been much used in a couple years, was at the end of the hall by the bathroom. 

Joe moved in and around the couch, down the familiar path to Leon's bedroom door. There was no answer when he knocked, so he cracked it open. 

Leon sat on his bed, leaning in with his back to Joe, fiddling with the little clock radio on the table. He didn't seem to hear Joe come in, but just like with Nile Joe had no doubt Leon knew he was there. 

He opened his mouth, but hesitated. Unlike Nile, Leon might stay silent for a while. And Leon’s silence was a hell of a lot harder to deal with than Nile’s anger. 

Joe’s gaze moved over the room, at the pictures lining the walls that also hadn’t changed much in twenty years. Leon, younger, smiling in most of the shots but otherwise not much different. Wearing uniforms in most of them, first military and then police. A baby Nile, all cheeks, beaming and beautiful. A happy crop-haired woman standing with them, holding Nile like a precious thing. Smiling just as big. And, sometimes, a tall, brown-skinned boy with overgrown hair and angry eyes, who stood apart from them in the few pictures they caught him in at all. 

"You're using again." 

Joe's eyes darted to the bed. 

Leon had turned to face him, his thin shoulders rounded inward. There were a few more wrinkles between him and the pictures, grayer at his temples and the goatee around his mouth. He hadn't been a cop in years, but despite how worn he sometimes looked there was still authority in his face. He was in his late fifties, but as sharp as he had ever been. 

He regarded Joe with solemn but steady eyes, a gaze that expected answers. 

"That's what you think?" Joe moved to the bed and sat, hesitant, unsure of his welcome. He started to reach up, absent, to touch his throat, but averted it and rubbed his eyes instead. Leon was weary before his time, maybe, but he didn't miss much. 

"Is it that farfetched? You stay gone longer and longer without contacting us, you’re going on all these late-night trips, getting in touch with those people you used to run with." 

Joe looked away from him, trying not to hear that scrape of emotion in his voice. 

"I’m not...it’s not even ‘getting in touch,’ I just need information sometimes. I told you I was out of that." 

"People get back in. I was a cop for more than a decade, Joe." 

Joe sighed. He hated these quiet, tough talks. First Nile, now Leon, and it wasn’t like they were gonna resolve anything. It wasn’t like anything had changed. 

“I’m not using,” he said, firm. “I won’t get back into that. Okay?” 

Leon studied him for a moment, then nodded once. He turned back to the radio. "Andy should be on soon." 

Joe's fingers brushed over his throat once Leon wasn't watching. 

Alleys and red-stained eyes, a pale asshole vampire hissing out gloating words. _Just the next in a long line._

He had despaired at the idea of dying without being able to tell anyone. Without being able to see Leon and Nile again. 

Death had made everything narrow down until it seemed simple: simple priorities, simple desires. But once death was avoided, the messy complications of life came right back without missing a beat. Death was a tease. 

He studied Leon's profile as they listened to the faint static of a currently unused AM radio frequency.

What if he told him? Opened his mouth and just… _talked_ about the night before, and how Andy's rants about conspiracies and murders might not be so far off. How Joe was almost added to the list of missing wolves himself. Sometimes he couldn't think of Leon as anything more than his weary, disappointed adopted dad, but that was an insult to the man. And beautiful, charming Nile could be fierce when she had to be. 

They were both strong. Why couldn't Joe talk to them about anything that mattered? 

Little puffs of static came through the radio, and then, as abrupt as ever, Andy's voice cut in. 

"Okay, my loyal but dwindling audience. We've got another name to put on the list. Peter Black, from a pack outside Sandpoint, Idaho. I know a few of his packmates work in the city, I'm hoping to hear from you. You know where to reach me if you have information. As always, here's the list. Twenty-five names now. Peter Black from Idaho. Shawn Bledsoe from Missouri, Kimberly Caravicci from right here in Washington..." 

Joe slumped on the bed. Name after name. He knew them by heart. He had searched for every single one of them. 

The list was only about five months old. Before that no one noticed any disappearances, or at least not enough to suspect a connection. 

Andy started her little broadcast as harmless rebellion. It was fun for her, kept her brain occupied when she wasn’t working. And it was useful: a way that the wolves on the island could keep in touch with the ones hiding in the city after sunset. Andy and Joe used to laugh about it, throw around segment ideas and names like it was a real radio show, and she was some insipid talk show host. _The Care and Feeding of the Modern Werewolf_. 

No more. Now it was grim, it was vital. 

Like most of the defiant acts that werewolves were allowed, it didn't affect anything. Humans and fangs had computers and internet and digital radios, podcasts and blogs and whatever the hell people with money and time sat around and listened to. An hour or so on an AM band of local radio was nothing that would make any difference in the end. 

But it’s what they had. 

These days Andy always led her shows with the list of the missing, and Joe always sat and listened. Afterward, when she started in on her ever-stranger theories and angry speeches, he usually tuned out again. 

The problem with asking Andy to warn the wolves about Merrick's threat was that Andy spent every damn day warning the wolves about all manner of threats, most of them wild and unfounded.

But Andy was the one the wolves listened to, so there was no one else to tell. 

"--to know why exactly Meta has been going to city hall for the last couple of weeks, and what business the governor has been in town, going underground so often. Anyone who thought he was just being sentimental, visiting his daughter, must realize by now that there’s more to it than that. Lewis Broadbent isn’t anyone’s idea of a doting dad, right? I'm starting to think that the rumors of Meta being offered a position in city government are true." 

Leon huffed a breath, a quiet kind of laugh. “Fangs in politics. That's scarier than yesterday's theory.” 

Joe shook his head. "I've got to talk to her about this crap." 

Leon looked over, the smallest trace of a smile tilting one corner of his mouth. "At least she isn't bringing you up anymore." 

"Of course, we can't witness any of this ourselves since they always meet at night. But we do have sources out there, and they're paying attention. In fact, we have a new tip from one of our more reliable sources, Brown Eyes himself..." 

Joe snorted, low and humorless. "You were saying?" 

Leon wilted, smile gone like it had never been there. "I wish she wouldn't do that. It's dangerous." 

"She doesn't say anything too specific, at least. Only the wolves will ever know who she means. It's not like brown eyes are all that rare among humans." 

"—know that there is something in the works from the tribe, and it's gonna be aimed our way. So careful out there. I'll bring you more as we learn it. The second report here comes from a wolf questioned by police earlier today. This is an early warning about the full moon coming up - there's a lot of bad feeling towards us, getting worse every month. What else is new, right? But some reports are suggesting that werewolves may not be the only ones on Whidbey during the next moon. If the cops plan on watching the island during the change then they must think--" 

Leon sighed and reached over, shutting her off mid-sentence. “She’s not gonna talk about the wolf.” 

The wolf. Jesus. The other pain in his ass that Joe had no idea how to deal with yet. 

The last three months’ full moons, three different humans had been attacked in downtown Seattle. One a month, like clockwork. That was supposed to be impossible: the whole point of the wolf housing on Whidbey, after all, was to keep the wolves separated during the moons. But a wolf had been in the city, and had hurt people. 

No one was dead, but all three humans were bitten. 

The papers went back and forth on it. People were outraged at the idea of a lawbreaking werewolf in the city, but the media also stressed that those three humans had been in the wrong place at the wrong time and took on some of the fault. Couldn’t have tourists thinking the city was dangerous, after all. Ever since Meta and her brood had settled in Seattle, the tourist business had skyrocketed.

But cops were going to be everywhere this coming moon, looking for the one responsible. 

It was a dangerous time for all wolves because of that one rogue wolf, but Andy didn’t want to even mention it on her show, though odds were good that the wolf responsible for the attacks listened to it. 

Joe dropped back on his back on the bed, frustration making him sigh to match Leon’s. “She preaches about every possible threat, unless that threat comes from another werewolf.” 

“Gonna get them scared of the full moon again,” Leon said idly. 

Joe nodded, irritated. Andy talked her shit as if it were fact, and Joe cringed sometimes to predict the questions he'd have to answer when already nervous wolves came by the bar after one of her crazier broadcasts. 

Bad enough to get them worried about fangs and humans in general, but the full moon? The change itself? It wasn’t exactly a highlight of the month as it was, and it wasn’t something they could wish away. There was no point getting the wolves more scared of the moon than they already were. 

"You want lunch?" 

He dragged his eyes back to Leon. "Sure, I could eat." 

"Good. You know where the kitchen is, make enough for your sister. She was up with me most of the night, she’s tired." 

Joe hid his wince. "Yeah." He got to his feet, rolling his shoulders gingerly. He could feel the pull of tight skin around his wound, but at least there was no danger of fresh bleeding. Fangs bit deep, but wolves healed fast. 

"You alright?" Leon's eyes were sharp on him suddenly. 

He stifled any urge to tense up, and just shrugged. "Long night for me, too." 

Long morning, too, lying awake, tossing the fang's words around his head, listening to the strange, hard beat in his chest. Too slow. Too shallow. 

He died, then he lived, and something changed. Something shifted inside him, and it wasn't getting Better as the wound healed. 

Joe moved to the door, his feet dragging. 

"Hey, Joe." 

He looked back at Leon. 

Leon sat still, his face carefully neutral. Joe knew just looking at the curve of his back, the way he slouched in on himself, that he had a hard night. But if he planned to say something about it, to ask Joe- again - to call next time, or even just mention that he'd worried, he didn't. 

Instead, he smiled faintly. "I'm glad you came up." 

And hell if that didn't ache worse than flat-out anger would have. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we learn more about Nicky, and the underground community of wolves that Joe runs.

At one time in his life, he was going to be a priest.

It was surreal, of course. If he told anyone who knew him now as much, they would have laughed and laughed. Nicky the brainless ex-pet? The last person earth who would ever have religion. But life had been different before the vampires came.

Life had been an adoring mother and father, years on the coast in northern Italy, playing in the waves and listening gravely to his devout father talk about the glories of God.

His mother, Morena, was less devout. She would let his father lecture him, read passages from the Bible, teach him bits of Latin. And afterwards she would take him aside and tell him, quiet, that he didn’t have to give his life to God if he didn’t want to. Because Nicolò was smart, yes, and as a boy he believed in the Lord and His teachings. But, beyond that, he was something better. He was _beautiful_ , and his mother loved that about him more than anything. A striking child with regal features and big blue eyes. He was tall and broad-shouldered even as a teenager, square-jawed and golden skinned. He took after her in that. His father was a plain man, but one who adored his pretty family more than anything else in the world.

His mother would walk him to school and back and explain about how his father meant well but was of a different world. “If all you are is smart, or devout,” she would say, holding his hand tightly as they went, “then you will have to work hard until the day that you die. You can be better than that, little one.”

His father would buy him textbooks for college courses when he was still in secondary school, while his mother gave him lessons about how to hold his chin up and look people in the eye and be confident, because half of being beautiful was thinking you were. His father came to his school and left beaming after speaking to his teachers. His mother took him shopping and styled his hair and glowed as the women there lavished praise on her beautiful child.

Nicky loved every bit of it. He liked being smart, and he liked making his mother proud. They were a happy family, utterly happy.

But then his father died, and his beautiful mother caught the eye of a vampire.

Two decades later, Nicky wasn't smart, or devout. He hadn't read a book in years, and he’d forgotten the scriptures. He didn't find himself beautiful, either. When he looked at himself in the mirror, he saw someone who seemed lost and dead in the eyes. He had no idea how to be confident anymore.

Still, he had good things going for him. He was self-aware, for one.

As he walked into a little bar on Euclid Avenue, for instance, it occurred to him that his rescuer the other night hadn't invited him to stop by. He’d made it clear that he wanted nothing to do with Nicky at all.

He didn’t even tell Nicky his name.

But whatever. Maybe Nicky wasn't invited, but he wasn't too worried about it: he was just concerned about his hero. Who could fault someone for being concerned?

His rescuer had mentioned a bar and gave a half-slurred address before changing his mind and turning them to stumble on towards the bridge to Whidbey Island. He said just enough that Nicky found the bar easily. (Well, easily after taking a long, long stroll up and down the length of Euclid. A couple of times. It really wasn’t his kind of neighborhood.)

So, who was Nicolò di Genova to deny fate?

He walked through the plain, unmarked door, half-worried he had guessed wrong before he saw the small stretch of bar and the people who sat around it.

It wasn't like any place he normally went to. It was dingy and bright, with windows – real glass, not painted over, not curtained up - letting in sunlight. There were shadows and streaks of sun reflecting little motes of dust in the air, and his eyes followed a few as he tried to get used to the sight. Most places tended to shut out the sun.

He should have known not to expect the darkness and glowing neon and fog machines of the clubs he hung around. This was _his_ place, his sharp-eyed rescuer’s. This was something different.

There were customers there, a few of them, but no one dancing or standing around chatting. Just quiet people sitting at the bar or at little wooden tables, hunched over their drinks. A lot of them were werewolves, Nicky could tell from the glint of yellow eyes in the trickled-in sunlight.

A human man was behind the bar. A Black man, with a goatee and silver running through his hair. Older, sad looking, but striking all the same.

Everyone's eyes were on Nicky as the door shut behind him.

This must have been the sort of place where everyone knew everyone, and unfamiliar people were automatically suspicious. Or maybe he should have worn something less colorful: most of the people there were drab and earth-hued. Maybe they would have trusted him more if he wore dark, dingy clothes.

Still, he wasn't bothered by people looking at him.

He moved to the bar and perched up on a stool with a smile. "I'm looking for someone."

The man seemed amused, folding his arms over his chest and raising a single eyebrow. “There’s a few here to choose from, unless you want to be more specific.”

Nicky beamed, instantly relaxed by the touch of humor. Not all dingy and grey after all. “He’s maybe just a little taller than you, brown skinned. Curly hair, big beautiful dark eyes like something you’d see in a painting, grouchy, has a beard...” He held his cupped hands out from his chin to demonstrate.

The man blinked. “Joe?”

Joe.

Yeah, that fit. Joe. Strong, but not super intimidating. The kind of name that would charge in and save people’s lives and then come back to life after dying like an actual miracle.

“Joe.” The name even felt right coming from Nicky’s mouth.

But the sharp gray-haired man got tense. He studied Nicky as if looking for some clue in his face. “Why?” No more humor in his voice.

Nicky wasn't smart the way he might have been once, but he could tell that this man knew Joe well. He maybe even knew that Joe was... _different_. Maybe he was worried that Nicky meant him harm. There was protectiveness in his hesitation.

It was almost enough to make Nicky laugh, the idea of him doing someone like Joe harm.

“I just want to talk to him.” He gave his brightest, most innocent smile. Nicky was good at smiling, mostly because he was usually sincere. He was good at making people relax around him.

The man stared at him for a moment, and as dingy as he and the whole place looked, Nicky had the sudden feeling he’d see right through any kind of lie Nicky might’ve told him.

"He's not here," came the eventual answer.

“Oh.” Nicky slumped a little. "Is he coming in?"

"Maybe."

"Great! Can I get a drink?"

The man relaxed a little bit. "Sure.”

Drink in hand, Nicky turned on his stool and looked around the bar. People were still watching him, humans and wolves alike. They sat in clusters, twos and threes, drinking mostly beer. He was right about everyone knowing each other – it showed in the way their nervous looks passed from one table to the next.

Nicky spotted a table in the corner with one lone occupant. A wolf, he could tell, with even darker skin than the man at the bar, and sad yellow eyes. He was the only one who wasn't either watching Nicky or murmuring to someone else. He wasn't paying attention to anything but his drink.

Nicky stood and went over: he didn't do well with being alone in crowds, and this guy looked as lonely as anyone he’d ever seen in his life.

"Hey."

The wolf's eyes came up fast, and his shoulders squared. "Who the hell are you?"

An accent. East Coast, Nicky thought. Maybe New York. He used to know a pair of sisters, Devoted, from Boston. Nicky used to love sitting around just listening to them talk. With venom in his veins it sounded like music. 

He pushed that away and lofted his glass. “Just a customer. Can I sit?"

The wolf looked around, but no one seemed to give him any guidance. "Okay," he said finally, slow and wary.

Nicky sat.

The wolf was younger than he looked from a distance, in his mid-twenties maybe. He was lovely, though. Vivid yellow eyes, dark thick hair cut in short curls, high cheekbones, a strong jawline. But everything else about him seemed sad. His shoulders were slumped, his hands curved tight around his drink.

His gaze went back to the table and stayed there after Nicky sat.

Murmurs peppered the room as the other customers slowly went back to whatever conversations he'd interrupted.

Nicky smiled over at his tablemate, lowering his voice. "Is everyone always so tense here?”

The wolf glanced around fast and dropped his eyes again. "I wouldn't know."

"Really? New to the bar, or the city?"

He frowned, shoulders slumping as he answered. "Both."

Nicky frowned in sympathy. "Seattle's not so bad. The people are usually really…" He glanced around again.

Faces turned away, all but one or two wary gazes that stayed on him.

"...friendly," he finished. He shook his head and turned back. "I'm Nicky."

The wolf stared when Nicky stretched his hand out. After a moment, he reached out and shook. "Lykon."

Nicky smiled. "Nice to meet you, Lykon."

Lykon met his eyes for a moment, and finally rewarded him with a slight smile in return. "You too. I think."

“So why are you in Seattle if you don't want to be?”

“I didn't say I don't want to be.”

Nicky laughed. “You did, just not with words.”

Lykon frowned but shrugged. “I was picked. Just like most of the wolves in this city,” he added, gesturing at the other wolves sitting around. “They raised taxes on my pack's land, so they had to send more of us out to earn money.”

Nicky leaned in, interested. “Is that why there are so many wolves living here who hate the city? I always wondered.”

“It's an honor,” Lykon said, stiff, like they were words he had memorized. Someone else's words. “It's an honor to be chosen to support the pack.”

It looked like he was struggling to say those words, so Nicky didn't question it or make him suffer by explaining any further. He just smiled: poor Lykon obviously needed to relax.

“How did you end up way out here, then? You're from New York, right?”

“Upstate, St. Lawrence County pack.” Lykon sounded proud, but after a moment the light in his eyes dimmed back into dullness. He sighed. “They said it would be easier to go someplace far off. That I wouldn't be as tempted to go home. A lot of them do that, stay close to home and start showing up for visits that get longer and longer and pretty much they just stop leaving again.”

Nicky's smile faded. He nodded his understanding. “It can be hard being so close to an old life that you can't have back.”

“I suppose.” After a moment his smile grew, looking sincere. “It doesn't seem so bad here, though. There are wolves same as back home. Just weird wolves with funny accents. And some nosy humans.”

Nicky recovered his smile, raising his glass in toast.

"Hey. Hey!" A voice, loud and angry, rang out over the murmurs around them.

Nicky glanced over to see what was happening and was surprised to see that the voice was apparently directed at him.

A woman came around the bar towards their table. A glaring young human woman. Beautiful enough to be a vampire herself, Nicky thought as she stalked over.

But her face was tight with the same kind of suspicion that sat on everyone in the bar. "Who are you?"

Nicky blinked. "Um. My name is--"

"Not your name. Who _are_ you?"

He glanced at Lykon for help. His name was the only answer he'd ever given to that question, since 'I'm Merrick's' didn't apply anymore.

Lykon shrugged, but he flashed a small, amused smile that gave Nicky some courage.

"I'm waiting for Joe," he said finally. And wow, that felt nice, speaking his name so casually. Like he was part of Joe’s life in some way.

Okay, he was probably being ridiculous.

The woman's expression only soured. "He isn't here. Get up, leave our patrons alone." She reached over and plucked his glass from the table and marched back towards the bar.

Nicky stared after her.

Lykon just shrugged when he blinked over. He still looked amused, though, which pleased Nicky.

So he stood and followed the human woman in curiosity. "I wasn’t bothering him. I don't think."

The man who gave Nicky the drink was nowhere to be seen. The woman put his glass down by a small sink and turned to face him across the bar.

"How do you know Joe?"

"He helped me."

She frowned, giving Nicky a sweep of her eyes, up and down. Whatever she saw seemed to make her even more dubious.

On the wall, a clock started to chime.

Nicky looked around as a collective groan seemed to slide over the group of customers, and more than half of them stood up all at once. The wolves, he realized. They were all getting ready to go.

He looked over at the clock. Five o'clock, the face said. Sunset was around six that time of year. He smiled when he realized that the owners had the clock set to help the wolves beat the curfew out of the city.

For the next few minutes, the young woman who stole his drink ignored him, busy collecting money and cashing out tabs. She smiled for the wolves, talking to each one like they were old friends. She was even more gorgeous when she smiled, but Nicky had a feeling that she wouldn't direct any of those smiles at him.

After a few minutes only the one wolf remained. Lykon sat at his little table, watching everything with nervous yellow eyes.

The woman moved around the bar and over to Lykon. They talked for a moment, too quiet to hear, and when she turned Lykon stood and followed.

They vanished back behind the bar through a doorway, and Nicky was left with a few mostly silent humans, sipping their beers and watching him blatantly.

Nicky stayed on his stool, looking at his confiscated drink sitting on the back counter. His hand dragged over the bar and he looked down when he felt the rough texture of it. Must have come cheap, that bar. It was nice enough, a gray pebbled stone kind of surface, but whoever made it didn't sand it down too well. He looked down the bar, smiling when he saw that most of the glasses resting there tilted at a slight angle.

He liked it. He liked the whole place. It seemed worn down, somehow, but warm and comfortable to the people who belonged to it. Nicky didn't belong, that was clear, but he didn't blame any wolf-friendly place for being paranoid.

He was happy to just wait for a while, even if it had to be in this stark, untrusting silence.

* * *

When Joe got to Freeman's, the sun was low enough in the sky that the wolves should have gone home. There was still time to kill before sunset, but they didn’t like to play it too close.

But the moment he opened the door he knew something was wrong. The air was tense, things were too quiet. Not like the place was usually all that lively, but there were enough of their regulars sitting around that there should have been some back and forth going on.

He spotted the problem almost instantly, though. It sat at the bar, with disheveled thick brown hair, dressed in tight jeans and an equally tight shirt a vivid shade of green usually found on tropical fish, that looked like it might be actual _silk_.

His breath hissed out of him in surprise. "Oh, you’ve got to be kidding."

That green shirt twisted back to look at him, and Nicky lit into a huge smile that had absolutely no business being part of Joe’s day.

God damn it, he was as pretty as Joe remembered.

“There you are!”

The pet. The fucking vampire’s toy he ended up taking a bite in the neck for two nights before.

Joe moved to the bar fast. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Nicky grinned. "You told me about this place, remember? A bar on Euclid. I would have found it sooner, but this isn’t a part of town I know--"

"That was an accident." More like a completely idiotic mistake. Of all people to slip up to, a fang pet. Joe glared at him, at this living reminder of everything that had suddenly complicated his life. "Well? What do you want?"

"Nothing."

"Then get out of here.”

Nicky hesitated, smile dimming slightly. "I mean. I wanted to see if you were okay. After what happened--"

"Stop." Joe glanced down the bar at their few overly silent, interested customers. He made a face, baring his teeth in annoyance. "Come here."

Nicky went readily, following Joe out the front door and into the fading sunlight. He turned with a smile once they were outside.

Joe frowned back at him. “I'm gonna go ahead and talk to you like you're not a complete idiot."

Nicky’s eyebrows lifted, and he waited expectantly.

"Don't talk about the other night in front of people. You know too damn much about me, and if it were up to me you never would have seen what you saw. You giving me the idea that you can't keep your mouth shut makes me worry. And I don't need another worry right now."

Nicky shook his head fast, those impossible eyes going wide. "No, no. I can keep a secret. I mean, I'd never tell anyone what happened if you didn't want me to."

Joe’s expression didn't soften. "Forget this bar exists. As in, never come back here again. Not ever. Forget about last night and forget about me.”

Nicky blinked, smile fading slowly. "I can't do that. You saved me."

"I didn't save you. You're a pet. You wanted whatever that prick was gonna do to you." He glanced back at the bar, wondering who had been out front when Nicky came in. Leon wouldn't have asked many questions, but Nile--

"I used to be. I told you, I left."

Joe looked back at Nicky, blowing out a breath. “Give me a break. Pets don't leave. They live underground, they never work for a thing and the best of everything is thrown at them. They stay doped up on venom for weeks on end. The way I hear it it's practically a nonstop orgy on top of all that. No Devoted ever leaves, and I seriously doubt it's because they're forced to stay.”

Nicky went blessedly quiet. He looked around the nearly empty sidewalk around them, looking self-conscious for the first time.

Joe huffed a breath. “Just go, pet. I can’t have anyone like you around here.”

Those light eyes dropped to the ground. “I’m really not one of them any--”

“I don’t believe you. And I don’t care. Go.”

Nicky drew back a step, but before Joe could turn and head back inside, he spoke in a rush. “I don't have the words to make you understand. I wasn't... _myself_ when I was there, and... they enjoy it, yes, most of the Devoted. I enjoyed it. I think. But as nice as it is, I never...I don't remember ever choosing it. Choosing anything I did down there. Everything seemed amazing, but...I wanted to have a choice. That's all.”

Joe stared at him, eyes narrow.

“It took a long time,” Nicky went on fast, as if sensing Joe might cut him off any second. “Because venom makes it hard to think. It took a long time to realize I didn't like it, and to ask their permission to leave. And then to get over it once I left. The venom. I'm not sure I even have...”

His hand went up and toyed at the collar of that absurdly bright shirt, revealing those old, deep scars on his throat.

For a moment Joe's own throat seemed to ache.

He didn't want to have things in common with a guy like this. He didn't want to sympathize. Whatever Nicky was, he didn't belong around Joe, that was all he knew.

But with his eyes shadowed the way they were, and his stumbling words, it was harder for Joe to tell himself that Nicky was so foreign to him. Joe understood, at least a little. He understood how addiction worked. He knew firsthand how hollow it could make a person feel, even after shaking it off. He just wasn’t sure that feeling could be associated with the fangs and their pets.

And if it could...how _horrible_.

Nicky rubbed his hand over his throat. "That's why Merrick came after me. Comes after me. I was his favorite, and he's mad I left. But I did, and I got over the venom. It took a while, and it wasn't easy, but..." He was fiddling with his collar again but jerked his hand down when he realized what he was doing. "Anyway, that doesn't matter, but you _did_ save me. If he bit me, it would have all started again."

Joe wanted to laugh again. To push him away and threaten him with any kind of outrageous violence if he returned. But nothing came out.

Nicky looked to be around Joe’s age, but something about him seemed younger. Maybe the way he spoke, or his wide smiles. He sure as hell didn’t seem like some spy sent by fangs to track Joe down.

He seemed _innocent_. That was something Joe didn’t trust.

When he studied him, though, Nicky looked back at him without trying to evade his gaze.

After a moment, Nicky’s smile began to return, smaller than before but still a strange sight in Joe’s world. “You shouldn't be mean to me just because I'm grateful.”

Joe jerked his gaze away from him. “Maybe I'm being mean to you for other reasons.”

“Like what? People love me.”

Nicky sounded so honestly baffled that Joe had to repress a smile.

“I don't know, maybe your annoying habit of ignoring what I say. Maybe because you dress like you buy your clothes from the kids’ section of Whores R Us.”

Nicky laughed, and Joe couldn't help but add a third thing to the list: the fact that his every insult bounced off this guy like his skin was made of something stronger than Joe’s was.

“I look good though, right?”

Joe rolled his eyes.

“Oh, you know I do. Anyway, I’ve tried to get real jobs. It never works. Merrick always shows up if I get a job anywhere. He doesn't want me working. And nobody likes to argue with vampires. Especially Merrick. He’s important.”

Smug prick. Joe shook his head, looking out ahead of them as if his name being said out loud might make Merrick appear. “I'm really starting to hate that...”

He frowned, blinking back at Nicky. “What does getting a job have to do with anything?”

“You said I dress like a whore.” He shrugged. “You’re not wrong.”

Okay, Joe was getting dizzy having to reevaluate this guy every ten seconds. “You're a _pro_?”

“Just sometimes. I left the underground on my own, I didn't get retired out like Devoted usually are, so I have to pay my own rent.” Nicky's smile stayed hovering at the corners of his mouth. “There’s a couple of places I go, sweeping floors and things like that, under the table. But that’s not always enough. So, whatever. I'm cute. And I’ve got these.” He showed off his fang scars for a moment. “Most guys think I’m lying about being Devoted, but they still pay a lot of money for it. So.” He looked down at his clothes, fingering the hem of his too-tight silk shirt.

His words were light, and though Joe searched his face carefully he couldn't see any sign of distress about the conversational turn.

Well, wasn’t like he’d never known pros before. Most of the ones he’d met had been wasted or strung out almost permanently, but nothing said a good-looking guy with a clear head couldn’t get paid too. So maybe Nicky wasn't the golden innocent he looked like. Maybe he belonged in the shadows of a dark street as much as Joe did.

He felt something in his chest ease, and for a moment his face twitched like he wanted to return Nicky’s inexplicably bright smile.

"You again."

Both of them jumped at the voice. Joe spun around, irritated at himself for focusing too hard on some pet and forgetting where he was.

Nile stood a few feet away, between them and the bar. Her eyebrows were raised, looking almost amused by their reactions. "Joe, who the hell is this guy?"

He let out a breath and gestured as dismissively as he could. "Nile, stalker. Stalker, Nile."

"Most people call me Nicky," he replied with yet another undisturbed smile.

"Fine. Nicky." Nile moved in. "Time to go. Got someone you need to take care of inside," she added, looking meaningfully at Joe.

“Lykon?”

Joe frowned at Nicky. “What?”

“Lykon. The wolf. He didn't leave with the others. I talked to him, he was nice. He needs to get out of the city before curfew.”

Just like that, all the softening feelings Joe had towards the guy stiffened up again. There was a new arrival inside and the damn pet already knew too much about what was going on.

He stared hard at Nicky. “Nile, go on up, I'll be right behind you.”

“Uh huh.”

Once she went through the door Joe spoke firmly, determination renewed. “You think you owe me something for what happened? Pay me back by staying away from me. The last thing I need is a guy who's being followed around by a spoiled fang drawing attention to this bar.”

“Oh...” Nicky’s smile vanished at that. “There are wolves here. I didn't think of that.”

“Look. You want to thank me, fine. You're welcome. But I can't have you around my family and those wolves. You don't belong here, and I can't risk them. You hear me?”

Nicky was looking after Nile, brow furrowed. "What's going on in there? Are you helping him too?"

“Too?”

“He seemed as scared as I was the other night.”

“He's new to the city, and he needs some instruction. That’s all you need to know."

“That’s a yes.” Nicky studied him in open fascination. “You're amazing.”

Joe blinked at that, a breath escaping him so fast it was almost a cough. Those words, and that sincere tone, were incomprehensible, and he spoke fast to barrel over them and leave them behind. “Look, I have to go, and you _cannot be here_. Okay? It’s as simple as that. You wanted to check on me, well, here I am. I’m fine. Now get lost before you cause me even more trouble than you did the other night.”

Nicky’s brow furrowed deep. “But.”

“Jesus, you’re stubborn.” And god, something was seriously wrong with his head, because Joe found himself smiling all over again. “Look...give me your number, and if I ever need a favor I'll call, okay? I'll give you a chance to smooth out your karma or whatever the hell you're worried about.”

Nicky brightened and dug into the back pocket of his too-tight jeans, pulling out a tiny notebook and pen like he had just been waiting for the chance.

Joe raised an eyebrow. “You carry that around all the time?”

Nicky nodded as he wrote. “I like taking notes.”

“Notes.”

“About things. There's a lot I still don't remember and need to learn again.” He looked up, flashing his warm smile. “I used to be smart.”

Joe laughed, not particularly kindly. “Uh huh.”

“When I was a kid.” He went back to writing, slow and careful. “But that was before I went underground. The venom took that away.”

Joe wanted to laugh again, but he watched the focused way Nicky wrote those slow numbers down and he didn't feel much humor.

Nicky straightened finally. He tore off the small sheet and held it out with a smile. “That's my address, too. Just in case you wanted to come by sometime. That wouldn't be dangerous for your wolves, would it?”

Joe looked down at the sheet, the spidery, unpracticed writing. It pulled at his gut and made him feel a little sick. Maybe there was something to Nicky’s words, to the idea that underground did more harm than good for the humans who went down hoping to become special.

Nicky’s cheeks flushed pink when Joe looked back at him. “I know. I write messy and I sound stupid when I talk. But I'm not. I'm just...I'm not good at being normal yet. I’m learning, though. I’m better than I was.”

Joe shrugged, uncharacteristically generous. “Normal’s overrated anyway.”

“I’m not surprised you think so,” Nicky answered easily. “You’re _definitely_ not normal. I've never met anyone like you.”

Strangely, gallingly, Joe felt his cheeks heat. He had to look away from Nicky and his earnest blue eyes and open smile.

It was entirely possible that he'd never met anyone like Nicky, either, someone so open and... sweet, if that was the right word. Still, no matter what Nicky was or what he used to be, Joe was one hundred percent sure of one thing about him: he had absolutely no place in Joe’s life.

For a moment or two, as he looked at that spidery phone number, he was sincerely disappointed by that fact.

* * *

She was meant to be happier.

There were times when Nile believed that so strongly that it made her bitter. She wasn't supposed to be the responsible one. She wasn't supposed to be twenty-seven and still living at home with her dad, working the profitless family business. Tending to a pack of werewolves. All because of her jerk brother.

She had so many dreams growing up. She wanted to be a journalist, or a news reporter. She wanted to be a psychologist, a social worker. Sure, they weren’t exactly light-hearted jobs, but they were grown and they would pay her to live an otherwise light-hearted life. She wanted to meet a cute guy, have some cute kids. The things every commercial on TV told her to want, she wanted.

But it was never an option for her, leaving. She couldn't leave Dad, not after her mom died and Joe managed to break his heart about a hundred different times. Everyone else left him, but she couldn’t. Her dad was always there for her, to point the right direction, to give her an example worth living up to. How could Nile walk away from that? Even for college, even for work outside the bar?

She didn't resent her dad for that. She resented Joe sometimes, sure, but Joe was an asshole. He could take it. Hell, he practically demanded it.

(When _he_ was a kid Joe wanted to be an artist. He used to spend hours watching the dude with the afro on old videos, painting landscapes and talking about happy, uncomplicated things. He used to fill every notebook he got for school with sketches. He used to talk with excited eyes about colors and shadows and light, enough that Nile started to see it too when she looked around at the world. He wanted to go to school for it. Get into some art program someplace warmer and happier than Seattle. But Joe never had that choice. Joe could pass for human but he couldn’t have a human life, not when his truth came out once a month on its own. Joe didn’t miss out because of responsibility, he missed out because the world hated him. When Nile remembered all that she resented him a little less.)

When they were kids, everything was so much better. Joe was two years old when mom brought him home. Nile was born years later, into this strange mix of family.

Mom had died when Nile was three, in the same accident that ruined her dad’s leg just enough to get him retired from the police force. He was lucky he could get disability, a pension. He had time with them, room to figure out what the next move was.

He taught his kids, every single day, that Joe was just a little different. Nile learned the same lessons Joe did about how they had to keep lots of secrets from everyone, or risk losing him.

Still, there were so many days when none of that mattered. There were so many good times. Her and Dad and Joe, just being a family. Living over the bar, studying on a table in the corner downstairs while Dad was working. Living in a world that Nile only realized bit by bit was different than the world most of her classmates lived in.

But the good times were all so damned long ago.

The responsibilities she was saddled with, that she resented so much sometimes, were things that helped an entire population of wolves who had nowhere else to turn. Joe started it, but Dad never hesitated to help wherever he could, which meant Nile helped too. There wasn't a choice for either of them.

Joe worked his ass off for those wolves. He put himself into danger all the time, made himself the face for an entire illegal operation. He had also never had much of a choice. What choice he did make - giving up the chance for a quiet life close to home in order to risk his own life and help others like him - she respected the hell out of. When Nile remembered that, she was okay with the fact that he was kind of a bitch.

Sometimes it was hard to remember that she loved Joe as much as she did, but sometimes she felt so sorry for him that she wanted to cry.

Mostly, though, that was how Nile felt about herself, and her dad.

She wasted day after day sitting behind the bar, flashing a smile and giving a few friendly words to people who needed it. She wanted to be out, downtown, hanging around people her own age, people with hope and a future. She wanted to get into college, backpack around Europe, things her high school friends had all done.

But she stayed.

And when she thought she hated Joe for the crap he pulled, a voice in the back of her head reminded her that if Joe hadn't left, Nile would have. That the only reason Nile didn't seek out a happier, easier life was that someone had to stay, and Joe beat her to the exit and had a much better reason for leaving.

So, there she was.

At least she’d made some good friends living this depressing life.

“Andy!” She answered the bar phone with a grin as soon as she saw the number flashing over the screen.

Andy was amazing, and if she and Nile could have seen each other more often they might have been close friends by now. As much as Joe and Dad called Andy irresponsible for the things she said on her broadcasts, at least she had some _life_ in her.

“Hey, kid,” Andy answered in her ear, obviously in one of her mild moods. “I was gonna check up on Joe, but with you answering the phone like that I have to assume he hasn't dropped dead.”

Nile blinked, leaning back against the bar. “Joe dropping dead might make me ecstatic, you never know. Did you get some psychic vibe something was wrong with him?”

“Yeah, no, he came by, he told us about getting bit.”

Nile straightened slowly, her brow furrowing.

Getting bit.

'Bit' could only mean either wolf or fang. If a wolf bit Joe, he would've just kicked their ass. If a fang bit him, he'd have been dead.

She cleared her throat. “Sorry, yeah, he didn't tell me you knew about that. Exactly how much _do_ you know, anyway?”

* * *

Pack wolves didn't live the rustic, luddite life that humans assumed. Their lands were in the woods and they weren't exactly current on modern technology, but they had the basic comforts. They had phones, televisions. Electricity. It was another thing the government could charge them ungodly amounts for. Like the property tax, it was one more way they bled the packs dry so that they could afford less and less land every year.

But that was another matter.

Lykon had always been good with the modern elements. He was always being called to fix, to set up, to recreate. To take the things his pack needed and find ways to make them work. He could rig an entire home's worth of electronics – tv and fridge and lights and everything – until it was so efficient and concisely wired that it used half the electricity it should have.

He was never taught it, he just learned. He taught himself. He had a head for it, his dad used to tell him, though where he got it from god only knew. He was good at it, and it was interesting. Most importantly, it was _useful_. A benefit to the pack, and that was the most that a wolf could hope to be.

Now there he was, in a strange city far from his wires and his family. Helping his pack still, but in another way.

He was called to do it, and it was an honor to be called.

But the city...it wasn't anything like he expected. The laws they greeted him with, the rules about where to live, when to work, what it would cost him…he was warned about all that. That there was a way to get around those laws...that was a surprise.

It was Yvonne, a packmate who had been chosen years ago, who first mentioned Andy. She never said anything too specific, not until her few phone calls came through. Letters were dangerous, even for the legal wolves. And even over the phone she was too paranoid to say much. Just a mention that if anyone else came to Seattle they should first call this wolf Andy, and she could help with details.

So of course, that's the first thing Lykon did when he was chosen to go out into the world.

It was Andy who told him about Joe Freeman.

And there he was. Arranging without hesitation to break human laws, to live in secret inside the city walls, to work for a human who hired illegal wolves and paid them less than any city-assigned 'job' would have.

“It all evens out,” Andy explained, confirming what Joe had said the day before. “You don't get as good a salary, but without the taxes and the Whidbey housing you'll bring home damn near twice what you would have. If you work the government's job then you're on their lists, you're watched. You're assigned housing and your rent is deducted automatically. You can't both work the good jobs and live in cheap housing. They've made sure of that.”

Lykon didn't complain as they took him around to see the job and apartment Joe could offer him. He didn't complain because he realized that the human who was offering to pay him less than a normal wage, and the man who ran the broken-down building he'd call home if he chose to, were breaking laws. That everyone he'd met so far was in danger for helping him and others like him. Of course, the humans were making a profit for it, but...

Complaining seemed ungrateful. If his job was to be manual labor, and his home was to be a bare dark room...well, he was ensuring that he would send more money home. He was helping his pack. That was the entire point of any of this.

"Home sweet home." Andy flashed a smile as she pushed the door open.

Following her in slowly, Lykon looked around the apartment. The example of legal Whidbey Island housing.

It wasn’t bad. Small, but his house with his parents and brother back in the pack lands wasn't much bigger. Furniture was just as old, too.

He wouldn't have a place this nice.

Lykon had to think about the pack first, which meant doing whatever he could to make money. Andy had no pack. She was a new wolf, it was clear from her scent. She could afford the relative luxury of being legal.

Andy shut the door behind them. “Well, this was the first stop and the last stop of the tour. I bring every new arrival here so they know where to find me. Besides, if you didn't notice, Joe isn't the most welcoming of wagons, so usually I also answer a few questions people are too scared to ask him directly.” She moved in and gestured at the sofa. “Quynh's the cook, but I can open a beer all on my own."

It took Lykon a moment to realize that was an offer. He smiled. “That'd be great.”

“So what do think of the set-up on the island here?” Andy asked casually as she went to the fridge.

He took a seat on the couch and looked around idly. “Reminds me of home,” he said, wistful. “In some ways. The weather’s better so far, that's one thing that won't change whether I'm on the island or in the city.”

Andy laughed as she handed him a bottle. “Nope. Joe did tell you that you can't come back here if you settle into the city, right? Except for full moons, we can't risk extra traffic across the bridge.”

Lykon rolled the beer between his hands. “You get a lot of wolves changing their minds and registering?”

She shrugged. “Fifty-fifty, I'd say. There are more in the city than you'd think, though. A hell of a lot more in the last few years, since Joe set up his little system. For changed wolves like me it's an easy choice. I lost enough, I'm not about to spend every day and night in fear of being caught. The island isn't much, but it’s a place to belong to when everyone in my human life wrote me off after my change. For born wolves like you, it always comes down to pack – do you want to be part of one while you're here more than you want to make money for your own pack back home? That's the basic choice.”

And it was tempting as all hell. Lykon could see why a lot of wolves would give in to the island, the closeness and the legality and the grounds outside, the trees and the water and the other wolves around.

But he didn't think that choice was for him.

"I don't care where I live," he said finally. “My parents and my brother and our uncles and the kids, they need the money. I don't think me being safe matters more than that.”

“Be very sure.”

Lykon sat back, taking a small drink. For a moment, he wished it were something a lot stronger than beer.

There was a sound from the back of the small apartment, a door opening and closing. He tensed unconsciously, but when no one emerged into sight, he relaxed again.

Andy regarded him, taking in the reaction with a faint smile. “She won't come out. She knows we're talking shop.”

“Mm.” Lykon peered at Andy, then away again. Wolves consorting with humans. Another weirdness he hadn't been prepared for. Wolves stuck with wolves, at least where Lykon was from. But Andy wasn't a pack wolf. She wasn't raised to think that continuing the pack was the thing most worth getting into a relationship for.

“Got a problem with any of this?” Andy asked after a moment. Her voice was mild, but her eyes were sharp. Lykon figured she'd heard the wolves-with-wolves lecture from more than a couple of visitors before.

He shrugged, figuring he'd mind his own business. “There's a lot I still don't understand, I guess.”

Andy raised her eyebrows in question and took a draw off her beer.

"Joe.” Lykon hesitated.

She nodded, no surprise in her at all. "Joe is different."

"His eyes. I've never even heard of a wolf looking like him. And his scent is... _way_ off."

“It's worse now than it was.” Andy hesitated, like there was something more to that that she wasn't gonna talk about. “But he's always been different. He doesn't know why, and it doesn't pay to ask him."

"And that's his family? Those humans at that bar?"

"Yep, and as good a family as anyone could want.”

Lykon sat back. “He was changed, then? I couldn't tell with his scent like it is.”

“Joe was born a wolf.” Andy allowed him a moment’s disbelief before her mouth slid into a smirk. “I’ve seen every inch of him, okay? Not a bite mark to be found.” She arched on the couch enough to tug up her shirt, where her own unmistakable scars had healed. “They don’t fade. I heal from everything else as quick as any other wolf, but the bite that turns _always_ scars.”

It wasn’t like he thought she was lying, but everything that he knew said that it wasn’t true. Born wolves were undeniable to each other. Their scent always gave them away. He hadn’t met many turned wolves before his arrival in Seattle, but now that he knew Andy and the ways her scent was different, he had no doubt that he’d always know a turned from a natural.

Joe, though. Lykon had never detected any scent like his before.

Andy sat back, letting her shirt fall back into place. “Just let this one go. Not every mystery needs to be solved.”

“But...” Lykon hesitated. “Do you even know where he--”

She held up a hand, sharp. “Christ, you guys are always so obsessed with the pack thing. I'm serious, Lykon. Don't ask me, because I have no idea what pack he's from or where they are or how he ended up here. I'm the closest thing to a friend he's got, and he still bites my head off if I ask anything about his past. Don't ask, okay?”

Lykon nodded after a second, though it was hard. A wolf's pack was half of them. At _least_ half. Changed wolves were an exception that he knew how to handle. A pack wolf with no pack to speak of...

He let out a breath. "I heard a lot of strange stories about the city before I came. None of them were the right strange stories."

Andy chuckled. "It’s just our lives. It'll be your life too. Soon enough you won't even notice things as being different anymore."

"I hope so." Lykon hesitated, his eyes lingering on Andy for another moment before shifting away.

Andy nudged him. "Ask, whatever it is."

Lykon's fingernail scraped at the label on the bottle, and he didn't stop even when he caught himself doing it. "One thing the stories got right…they hate us."

Andy's smile faded.

"The humans. They really hate us. They don't even try to hide it." Lykon frowned. "Even the ones working with us."

She let out a breath, almost a hiss. "Humans don't get it. They've been poisoned against us for years. Decades. Since before wolves were ever in this city. They don't understand how we are, so they listened to the stories the fangs spread and took them as fact. It always goes back to the fangs.”

Lykon knew next to nothing about vampires, and what little he did know was enough to convince him he didn't want to know more. Moving to a city with an actual vampire tribe...he never would have believed this would be his life.

Andy went on, scowling at her bottle. “The fangs were smarter than us. They made humans aware of them first, while wolves kept hiding in their woods and packs. That meant the fangs could say whatever they wanted to influence how the humans reacted to us. And those fuckers didn't bother being subtle. This rivalry between fangs and wolves...it's the sole reason why we have such horrible lives today."

She looked at Lykon, her face calm but her eyes glinting with a sudden hardness that Lykon didn't know her well enough to interpret.

"Humans don't understand, but that's going to change. It's changing now. Wolves aren't staying silent and meek anymore. One by one we're going to make sure the truth gets told. They’ll learn, even if we have to shove the lesson down their throats."

Lykon leaned back and dropped his eyes, unnerved by the sudden intensity.

Andy seemed to catch herself. She cleared her throat and stood, moving past the couch where Lykon sat. “Right, enough Q and A. You’re sleeping here tonight, and first thing in the morning you make your choice. Island or city. If Island, we take you to register with the city. If the city, you go back to that apartment Joe showed you, and you show up at work tomorrow. Got it?”

Lykon, as much as he thought his mind was already made up, felt a twinge of guilty relief that he would get one night on the island, with his own kind, before his strange new life began.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little more backstory, and we meet the local cops.

He was supposed to be a scholar. 

Two hundred years ago, Sebastien had as much interest in vampires as he did in everything else: a considerable amount. But he never intended to _become_ one. He never intended to become a Medieval physicist, but he devoted hours of study to them, the same as vampires. The same as a thousand other subjects. 

The difference was that he couldn't locate a tribe of fifteenth century physicists and ask them firsthand for the answers to questions he had. Vampires were a different story. 

He first approached Meta out of sheer intellectual curiosity. This was back in Bourgogne, before Meta had a tribe of her own. When she would still walk the streets and talk directly with ordinary humans.

Vampires had only been public knowledge for a couple of decades at that point, but there were already texts being written that traced their history back a thousand years. Sebastien was surprised to learn that he knew more about that history than Meta. 

Later he learned that she simply didn't put much value in history, but she encouraged Sebastien's curiosity all the same. Sebastien amused her, that was plain to see, but it wasn't something he found off-putting. At least not so off-putting that he let it interfere with his questions. 

Humans who were lucky enough to get an audience with vampires always, _always_ asked to be changed into one of them. Sebastien found out later from Meta herself that she was amused because she thought Sebastien's questions were simply a ridiculously long-winded build-up to that inevitable request. 

But Sebastien hadn't even thought about it, so of course he never asked. Meta's amusement slowly became curiosity, and then interest. 

She enjoyed rarities. She still did, though her exposure to anything new and different was limited in Seattle. They were all limited. 

It was unheard of for a vampire to simply offer to change a human, but it was nothing more than a lark that made her ask if he would be interested in learning some of his answers through personal experience. 

Sebastien gave the question days of thought, avoiding her and the tribe she belonged to at the time. But since there was no teacher like solid experience, he ended up saying yes. 

Of course, larks weren't enough to change a human into a vampire, even if the lark was Meta's. The changing process was sacred above everything else. No one vampire in the world had the right to create new vampires. Not until the tribe was consulted and gave their approval. Anyone who went rogue and disobeyed that...well. Vampires didn’t die quickly. It was a slow, ugly process. 

Meta believed in the sanctity of the change even now. It was the first and strictest law of their tribe. 

She went to her own Mother to make the request for Sebastien, and the tribe weighed him as carefully as any other potential addition. He was deemed strong enough, sober enough, and loyal enough, and the change was done. 

Sebastien meant to be a scholar. He was supposed to grow old and die surrounded by dusty books, filling his mind until his heart stopped beating. 

Instead, he was as young and vibrant as ever, trapped in the underground chambers beneath Seattle, Washington. 

There were times when he felt like he made the wrong choice. Sebastien sought to know, to experience. Once he was turned, then he knew. Then he should have moved to the next subject, the next curiosity. 

But this lesson couldn't be undone. 

He had an eternity to learn all he could, to live and see and know. In theory, it was a wonderful gift. In reality, it kept him underground in this dirty American city, babysitting his over-emotional brother, watching dazed, beautiful humans come and go. Living in seclusion. Reality was day after day of the same walls, the same people. 

Life went on, but that's all it did. Go on. 

There was more to learn, and though he was a vampire he never stopped being a scholar. He itched, some days worse than others, to go out and _learn_. He itched for more. He hungered, the way Meta hungered when they first met, for something new and rare, something unusual. 

He couldn't help but think that the closest he was going to come to something genuinely special while he was in this city had been a defiant, brown-eyed werewolf. 

Sebastien had glimpsed a chance to experience something rare, but it had been killed in front of his eyes before he could recognize it. 

* * *

Just as Joe reached the door of the darkened bar, his cell phone rang. He answered when he saw the name on the screen. 

“Andy? What’s up?” 

“It’s me.” Quynh’s voice was unexpected, but slow and soft as ever. “I’ve got some interesting news I figured you'd want to hear right away.” 

“Mm?” 

“Meta’s got her feelers out. Her tribe is looking for a werewolf with brown eyes.” 

He straightened, leaving his key in the door. “What?” 

“Her sons are asking questions. They want to know who this wolf is, where he's from, who his pack is. Everything. I don’t know what all happened with you and Merrick but the whole underground is talking about it.” 

His chest was starting to feel tight. “They know I’m alive?” 

“That's where you're lucky. Meta’s got calls in to hospitals and morgues trying to find where the _body_ got taken and who’s showing up to mourn you. So that’s one advantage. But they've been asking everywhere, and not just the lower-ranked vampires. It takes a lot to drag Sebastien himself out to deal with human authorities, but he's been out.” 

Sebastien. 

Joe’s mind went back to him, the second fang, the tall, mostly silent one. He couldn't say much about him, just that he didn't seem nearly as psychotic as Merrick. He had at least tried to save Joe’s life, even if it was just a token protest. 

He smirked, but it was thin and vanished fast. “Good to know I can make an impression, I guess.” 

“Play it smart. Maybe stay indoors at night for a while. Just the idea of you has them overly interested, and that's with them thinking you're dead. If nothing else there's gonna be a lot of talk in fang circles about the possibility of werewolves without yellow eyes.” 

"Jesus." 

Just what he needed. His one advantage in life was that no one knew he existed. No one knew he was even possible. He counted on that. 

With any luck, maybe the talk would come and go and have no resonance. There was no corpse to find, and no mourning family, so hopefully Meta would give up, assuming her two precious sons made some mistake. 

“There’s something else odd.” 

He sighed. “Of course there is.” 

“What they’re looking for, to quote them directly, is ‘a North African werewolf with brown eyes.’” 

Joe blinked.

“I’ve never asked where your family was from. Is it—” 

“I don’t know. I have no idea.” Joe had no memories of his origins. He had no idea what his actual last name had been when he was born. He just assumed he was some shade of Middle Eastern and didn’t think to dig into it any more than that. Most people tended to assume that.

Quynh hummed into the phone. “Strange, then, isn't it?” 

Definitely. Maybe it was nothing, but it seemed like too specific a way to describe Joe. Like the fangs somehow had more information about him than he did. 

“Just be careful, okay?” Quynh spoke with a lowered voice. “Meta has been talking to the Primul Născut.” 

“That Romanian tribe?” 

“The oldest. The firstborn, at least so they claim. _Nobody_ bothers them, Joe. As strong as Meta is here, she is no one to them. If she's been in contact...be careful.” 

“I hear you, Quynh. Thanks.” 

He shut his phone and let out a slow breath. He had no idea where Quynh got her fang gossip from, but she was usually right. 

Wasn't a damn thing about him that any ancient fangs in Romania needed to know about. That was nothing but trouble if it was true. The kind of trouble he didn't know how to handle. 

Head spinning, he pushed the door to the bar open. His promised dinner with the family was already dive-bombing into more worries he wouldn't be able to tell them about. Christ. 

The front room was dim, the overhead lights off. Nothing too unusual about that. It was after sunset, and their evening shifts were so slow that most nights Leon shut down after their daywalker regulars left. 

But it wasn’t empty. 

They were both in front of the bar, Nile sitting with a drink in her hand, Leon just standing there waiting. Both looked up when Joe came in, tense and silent. 

Shit. Something else had happened. 

Joe shut the door behind him, listening for the click of the lock. "What's going on?" 

"Come here, Joe." 

He frowned, glancing from Nile to Leon. He moved in finally, shoving his keys in his pocket. 

Leon reached out when he was close enough, and Joe had to stop himself from pulling back. The moment Leon grabbed the collar of his shirt, he knew what this was about. 

Gravity jerked at his stomach, but his heart didn't beat faster or skip a beat or do a damned thing except sit still in his chest like a dead lump. 

Sure enough, Leon pulled at his collar only enough to see the two neat round scabs on his throat. Then his hand dropped. He let out a breath, eyes shutting. 

"I can't believe you." Nile watched with wide eyes. If she was angry it was hidden, for the moment at least, by something more hushed. "Days ago?" 

"How did you…" He frowned. "Nicky." 

"What? No, Andy called earlier." Nile's gaze moved from his throat up to his face. "You weren't answering your cell, she wanted to make sure you hadn’t dropped dead from the _bite_. You told her, and…you planned on, what? Never saying a thing to us?" 

“There's nothing to say.” Joe tugged at his shirt, hiding his throat again. "There was a fight, I got bit, but somehow I came out alright." 

"Alright?" Leon's voice was sharp, which was a bad, bad sign. "Have you looked in a mirror lately?" 

Joe frowned. 

Nile stared at his face. "Your eyes. Have you seen your eyes?" 

“I worried you were strung out, or using.” Leon was still sharp, words clipped strangely. “But they're getting more red. Too red.” 

Joe’s throat worked. He glanced towards the back mirror behind the bar, but there were bottles blocking the view and his eyes were too dark. He couldn't see a difference from that far away, but he didn't doubt Leon. 

His eyes were going red. 

Quynh was right. 

“Jesus, Joe, it's like you're turning into--” 

"I'm going home." He turned away from them and headed back to the door, grabbing his collar as if hiding the wound might make whatever the hell was happening to him slow down. 

"We're your family." Leon's voice, hoarse and soft. 

Joe stopped at the door, wanting nothing more than to grasp the handle and push it open and walk out of there. 

They were his family. He loved them more than anyone on this earth. Death had made him remember it. 

But. 

He spoke dully. "I didn't want you to worry." 

"Bullshit. You make us worry every single day." 

Surprised at the rare curse, Joe turned back to Leon. "What was I supposed to say? I have no idea what's happening, and there are things going on that are bigger than me. I don't have time to worry about my eyes going red, or the fact that I smell like I'm rotting inside." 

Nile winced. 

Leon shook his head, his gaze steady on Joe. His eyes flashed the fire that his normally weary appearance so often hid. "I don't know why we can't convince you to come to us. We could worry for you. We could help, Joe. We could help with all of this." 

"I don't go to people for help. I learned a long time ago not to waste my time that way. I don't need help, not from anyone." 

“But we're—” 

“Especially from the two of you!” It was a snap, sharper than Joe meant. 

Leon looked like he'd been slapped. He drew back, spine straight, eyes wounded. 

Joe nearly growled. He fisted his hands, squeezing to keep from erupting in any other way. "It has nothing to do with you." 

"Of course not." Nile reached out, her hand on Leon's back even as she stared fire at Joe. "He's never come to us before. It's not like we could have ever let him down." 

Joe met her angry eyes and shook his head. "You don't get it. Either of you. And it's not something I can explain." 

"Why not?" 

"Because there's no point, and it's a waste of time. There are bigger things going on here. What's happening to me doesn't matter." 

"Then let us help with those bigger things." The fire in Nile's eyes simmered low and hot the way Leon's did, and they were every inch a father and daughter as they faced him. "I know you have this lone wolf image you want to hang on to, which is frankly too cliché to even tolerate. And you're so _stupid_ , Joe. You push us away; you vanish for months at a time. You obsess over those wolves when your family has always been right here." 

He almost laughed. He leaned back against the door. "It has nothing to do with _family_ , Nile. I don't ask for help. From anyone. Ever." 

"That's the most ridiculous, stubborn load of crap." 

Joe looked from Nile to Leon. His family, yeah, and they'd been through a lot. They forgave him a lot of petty shit, and he had put himself through a lot of pain running away from them when he didn't have to. 

He thought again about collapsing in an alleyway with sneering fangs watching him. His last thoughts were of these two people, and how lousy it felt thinking that he would die without them ever knowing what happened. 

He frowned, rubbing at his arm. His neck ached, and his heart slowly throbbed a single intermittent beat in his chest. 

Slowly he moved away from the door. He didn't get all the way to the bar, stopping at a table towards the middle of the room. He leaned on the back of a chair. 

"One night…" His eyes skidded away from them. He looked down at his arm. "Like three years back, when I was...when things were bad, you know?" 

“Okay.” Leon still sounded sharp, but softer than before. 

Joe sighed. He pulled the chair out and dropped into it. "One night I'm strung out, bad, and sleeping on the floor of some condemned shithole with a few other idiots who were too messed up to care. I'm laying there, listening to them moaning or screaming away a bad trip. I could feel things climbing on me. Roaches, or spiders, or rats. Who knows, and I was half-sure I was imagining it anyway." 

He looked up hesitantly. Leon's face was washed out, and Nile was doing her best to look stoic. Joe was reminded by the dark surprise in their eyes why he never explained to them in any detail what he did with his life when he was gone: there wasn't a damn thing about it he was proud of. 

“Anyway, I was broke, couldn't sleep. Hurting. Wondering who in that shithole would be easiest to rob without getting myself stabbed.” 

He met their eyes, Leon's especially, because he was at the part that mattered. 

"You'd figure epiphanies come in big moments, right? But for me it came just like that, from one groan to the next, itching for a fix. It hit me that night, like a baseball bat to the skull: nobody in the world gave a single shit about me." 

Leon looked away from him. 

Joe kept talking fast, hating the slump he always put in Leon’s shoulders. "I wasn't even thinking about you two back then. I couldn't. If I thought about you and this place when I was where I was, then...” He shook his head. “I blocked you out. Anyway, by then I hadn’t contacted you in a couple years, so. I figured you'd given me up for dead, or a lost cause. I had no friends, nobody but a dealer who grinned and chatted me up as long as I had money to spend. None of the other users gave a shit about anyone else. Nobody cared." 

His mouth twisted upwards sharply. "No one was going to save me, and when I realized that, it was the best thought I ever had in my life." 

Leon stood up and moved around the bar. He grabbed a bottle of whiskey, working the top off with jerky motions. 

Joe got to his feet and moved in as if the offer had been extended to him. He sat where Leon had been, glancing at Nile. 

"I don't get why being alone was so great," she said, her voice soft. 

"It wasn't being alone. It was realizing that nobody else was going to help me. Because the second I realized that, I also realized that help was what I was waiting for." 

Leon handed across a glass. 

Joe took it and sipped. The alcohol was shockingly warm down his throat, in his chest, and it was such a nice change from the growing coolness inside of him that his heart gave a lurching beat in response.

He rubbed at his chest absently as he went on. "I was there for God only knows how long, maybe months, rotting and hoping to get rescued. Because that's all you do when you're as bad off as I was. You go through the motions just enough to survive. When you're coherent you tell yourself it's not even your fault, because someone should have stopped you before it got so bad. Someone should have helped." 

He looked across at Leon, for another brief moment feeling amused. "Like some miracle should have put someone on that street, in that building. Someone who'd lift me up and clean me off and fix my head." 

Nile took his glass from his hand and had a sip, and then a larger one. 

"I hated myself. The minute I realized I was laying around hoping someone would come along and drag my ass up, I _hated_ myself for it. I was on my own. I mean, humans didn't want me..." He hesitated. "...present company excluded." 

"Damn straight." 

He smiled, thin, at Nile. "And the wolves I’d gone searching for turned me out like I was trash. Nobody wanted me, so I ended up laying my ass down in the gutter, bitter because no one was there to tell me to stop. Ready to give up on everything because I didn’t have _help._ " 

Leon made a soft sound, trying to cover it up with a sip of his own drink. When Joe looked over, though, he set his glass down and gave Joe the saddest smile he might’ve ever seen. “Sometimes when I think about how young you really are I want to punch holes in the wall.” 

Joe echoed that smile. He hadn’t felt young in way too many years. He sat back, his eyes going to the glass on the bar. He took it in his hands, rolling it back and forth between his palms thoughtfully. 

"The very next day, I dragged myself out of there. Shut myself in this shitty room in a hostel for maybe a month, screamed at the walls, picked some pockets for take-out and cigarettes. And when I was together enough to start back towards some kind of real life, I told myself I would never wait for help again. Not from anyone. I was pathetic for a long time, but when I was the one who dragged my ass up and got myself better, I was strong." 

He drew in a breath, sipping the whiskey. “I'm not gonna be weak again. Not for one second. Because it's a long way down to where I was, but it's _steep._ All it'd take is one wrong step and I'd fall right back there.” 

Nile gaped at him. “Joe.” 

He waved a hand, telling her to get on with whatever roast she had coming. 

She just stared. “You're seriously saying that you wouldn't tell us about some vampire bite because you think it'll make you a _junkie_ again?” 

Joe shrugged. Oversimplifying, but close enough. Nile tended to get right to the heart of things, and Joe didn't mind. He wasn't all that proud of the epiphany he was telling them about, because he wasn't proud of any of it. 

"The world doesn't work that way, son.” 

"Yeah, it does." He looked at Leon. "Sometimes we can't save ourselves, sure, but we have a choice what to do about it. Me? I don't ask anyone else. Not for me, not for the wolves. Not for anyone. Because the minute you get it into your head that someone's there to help, it's a cancer. It eats into every problem you have, until you expect help for everything.” 

Nile shook her head. “You are so stupid.” 

“Maybe. But that's how I dragged myself out of the gutter, and that's how I do things now. If it's stupid, then stupid works for me.” 

“How does it work? You call this working?” Nile twisted on her stool, glaring at him. “We're right here, Joe! We've always been here! Just because you’re too bitter to see it doesn't mean you couldn't always rely on us.” She shook her head, gesturing back at Leon. “We want to help. That's what families do for each other. And you saying that you're never going to let us, it's like you’re punishing us for something we never did!” 

Joe frowned. Leon stood there sipping his drink, watching them. His face was close to blank and Joe couldn't read what the pain in his eyes meant. 

“If I ask for help with those wolves, I'm crippling myself.” He looked back at Nile, serious, trying to get past that hurt anger that she had more than enough reason to hide behind. “Look at them, for god's sake. The wolves, the ones in here every day. They had to beg for help when they first got to the city, and they're helpless now. They're too scared to _move_ unless me or Andy or someone's telling them it's okay. The only way I can help them is on my own, or else I'm going to turn into them." 

He reached up, letting his fingers drift over the healed wound at his throat. No need to hide it anymore, at least. 

"So not telling you about the other night...it's not a punishment. It's because I can handle it. I have to handle it. I'm angry that no one can tell me just _what_ I'm handling, but I'll deal with that myself. It's the only thing I know how to do." 

* * *

The inner door leading up to the surface stood closed when Sebastien and Merrick approached, which meant the sun had not yet quite set. 

Merrick glared at it the same way he glared at everything these days. "That figures." 

"The days are getting longer. Be patient; we can go out soon enough." 

Merrick turned on his heel, scowling down the path behind them as if to make one of the Devoted from the nearby houses scramble into action to make the sun set faster. 

Sebastien studied Merrick's tense profile. He never understood his brother's capacity to feel things so intensely, so constantly. Merrick was never happy: he had fits of ecstasy. Never annoyed when he could rage and shout and throw things. And if Nicky served as an example, he was never content to miss someone without becoming obsessed with getting them back. 

In contrast, Merrick tended to accuse Sebastien of feeling nothing at all. 

It drained Sebastien to be near him for too long these days.

“You remember we have a specific reason for going up tonight, right?” 

Merrick looked over and rolled his eyes with a huff of air. “I’m always pleased to do our Mother’s bidding.” 

Sebastien waited. 

“But I’m sure she won’t mind if I take a slight detour. Something I will not have time to _do_ if they don’t open the doors soon.” 

There it was. 

Sebastien had been a silent accomplice in Merrick’s pursuit of Nicky for some time. Out of necessity: without Sebastien’s presence Merrick might have forgotten himself by now and broken laws to get his pet back by force. 

But it never sat well with Sebastien. He had liked Nicky, as much as one could like a venom-addled human. Stll, he loved Merrick, and he wanted to see him happy as he used to be. 

"We could go up anyway," he suggested, dry. 

Merrick's glare softened. "Are you crazy? I'm not in that much of a hurry." 

Sebastien smiled, all innocence. "I'm serious. We can go out there now, I'm ready." 

“You're an idiot.” 

"Mm." Sebastien nudged his arm. "It's good to see your recent insanity hasn't overpowered your vanity." 

Merrick let out an affronted breath but settled his back against the stone wall to wait. 

The sun didn't kill them. That was one of many incorrect beliefs that humans held about them, left over from centuries when they believed vampires to be mythological. The sun wouldn't shrivel them to ashes or set them to burning. But vampires hated it, and most wouldn't go out in it. 

There were a few reasons. Vampires' bodies worked much the same as humans, but slower. Their hearts beat intermittently, a dull throb in the chest, usually after they fed. They breathed faster after a feed, but still far slower than any human. They healed slowly when they were injured if they healed at all. Damage done to their skin usually became permanent. 

Thus one reason they avoided the daylight, and the only reason that mattered to Merrick: the sun damaged skin. It aged them. It gave wrinkles and spots. Vampires hated the sun because it marred their beauty. 

Merrick refused be seen in sunlight. If an emergency were to drive him outside during the day he would go covered and hooded and bent low to keep the sun from touching him. He usually wouldn't even venture far into Devoted territory during the day out of some absurd fear that the door might be flung open and some rogue streak of sun would scar him. 

Sebastien had never been vain like most of his kind. His life hadn't lent itself to vanity. He was turned because he was an intellectual curiosity for Meta, not because he was some startling beauty. He avoided the sun as they all did, though. 

He told himself it was for logical reasons: their eyes functioned better in the darkness, and daytime had become boring aboveground now that humans had adopted a vampire's schedule. But in truth his biggest reason was entirely without merit, an unreasonable fear left over from his first days as a vampire. 

_"They say that it cooks us._ _"_ It was a smiling taunt from one of the eldest of Meta 's tribe back when Sebastien was recovering from his change . A man long since gone back to Europe. _"Because we're not much more than dead meat, and the sun brings heat. Slowly, degree by degree, but what the sun affects we can't ever change back. If you bake in the_ _sun_ _then you walk around baked forever."_

Sebastien had been a student, a scholar. Still, despite his common sense, the idea of walking around like a slowly cooking steak beneath his skin sent chills down his spine that lingered years later. 

Maybe it was stupid, but there it was. 

"Well, well.” 

Sebastien focused on Merrick, instantly alarmed by the note in his voice. 

Merrick straightened from his slouch, watching the path behind them with a gleam in his eyes. “Sebastien. Look who it is." 

Sebastien followed Merrick's gaze. He frowned when he saw who was making their careful way down the corridor towards their home. 

There weren't many Devoted who lasted much longer than their thirtieth birthday before they were weaned off the venom and sent back above-ground. Meta kept a few older ones around for her own reasons. The woman coming towards them was in her fifties, but Sebastien suspected she wasn't going anywhere soon. 

Morena had first come to them in Europe. Italy. She was newly widowed and stunningly beautiful in her sadness. And she had aged just as beautifully. She was, by all reports, a charming, dedicated Devoted to have in for a feeding, even after so long. 

Merrick wasn't interested in her for blood, though. 

Before Sebastien could attempt to distract him, Merrick was halfway down the curving tunnel. Sebastien contained a sigh and followed his brother further into the darkness. 

"It's Morena, isn't it?" Merrick reached the Devoted, smiling gently. Those delicate features of his bent easily towards sweetness. It was usually deceptive. 

The woman returned his smile, venom dazing her dilated eyes. "Hello, Merrick. Morena, yes." She sagged back against the wall without the momentum of walking to help her balance. 

She had been fed from recently. Sebastien saw with approval that the wound on her neck had been properly cleaned. But she wasn't given food, Sebastien would have bet, which was why the venom's effects showed so strongly. 

"It's been ages since I've come to see you." Merrick took her arm smoothly. "Come, remind me where you live." 

Morena arched into him, coming up off the wall and letting Merrick hold him up instead. It was nothing a Devoted wasn't accustomed to, being led around in a daze. "Just ahead." 

Merrick flashed a grin back at Sebastien – as if his brother had ever for a moment been an ally in his ridiculous obsession of his – and gestured at an approaching doorway. "Is this it?" 

"Mm." 

Merrick stepped into the entrance of the small home and escorted her in. 

Sebastien leaned against the doorless frame and waited. He was anxious to go topside again, to seek out information about the surprisingly hard-to-track wolf that Merrick killed. But Meta was determined to use the search to try and distract Merrick, and Merrick wouldn't be pulled away until he was done with Morena. 

"I remember when you were chosen to come down here. Didn't you bring someone with you?" Merrick led her to a soft, plush armchair in sight of the door. 

She smiled, sitting with some grace. "My son." 

"Of course. Nicky." 

Even from the doorway, Sebastien could see the glittering of Merrick's eyes. 

"Nicky. That's right. My Nicolò." Her head tilted back, eyes closing, throat exposed and stretched. She had been a Devoted for decades: such a pose was now reflex. It was meant to be enticing, and Morena somehow managed to radiate a sense of self-possession despite the venom clouding her mind. 

Sebastien found his eyes stuck on her for moments longer than he intended. Beauty was common, but it was rare to find a Devoted who managed to find something regal in what they were. 

That wasn't the sort of Devoted Nicky had been. There hadn’t been much regal about him, though at the time Sebastien had enjoyed his company far more than...

Well. Sebastien didn't like to think about Nicky. 

Merrick moved behind her chair. His hand came out, fingers brushing through her thick dark hair. 

Morena smiled without opening her eyes. 

Merrick's voice was casual, but his eyes burned. "Do you hear from Nicky now that he's gone?" 

"He calls," she answered, voice heavy, practically dosing already. "He's got a place of his own, above-ground. It's strange, isn't it? That he would go." 

Merrick's face darkened. 

"He won't tell me why." She curled into the chair. "I'll tell him that you asked about him. Meta's own son, asking about my little boy." 

Merrick pulled his hand from Morena's hair. His fingers fisted as his arm dropped to his side. “You do that.” 

Sebastien stepped back, turning from the front room of that house back into the tunnel. 

The door was open, and the stairs leading to the top door and the surface world glittered with light. The sun had gone out of sight. 

"She's so old. I wonder why Meta keeps her." 

Sebastien didn't look back. "Why not? You don't think she's still good enough?" 

“I suppose. She's nice to look at, but so dead-eyed these days.” Merrick caught up with him. "I guess she looks a little like Nicky, at least. But Nicky's so much more _alive_ than any of these--" 

"I don't want to hear it, Merrick." 

"Well. She'll be retired soon enough. Living above-ground again, spoiled rotten by endless hordes of humans who want to know all about us." He frowned. "It's a good life." 

Sebastien glanced at him. 

"It is.” Merrick looked to Sebastien as if he had argued the point. “There's no reason to walk out. They get treated almost as well as we do, and for what? They don't earn it. They're pretty enough, but when you come down to it they're nothing more than well-dressed meals." 

Sebastien chuckled. 

"What?" 

"You talk about them like that but you're surprised when one of them decides to leave?" 

Merrick stopped moving. 

Sebastien sighed and looked back at him. "What?" 

Merrick stared at Sebastien, eyes gleaming, his jaw clenched. "You're laughing at me." 

"For god's sake, Merrick." 

"You're laughing at me. Every Devoted, every vampire, they all know what happened. They laugh at me too." 

"They wouldn't have the courage, even if they were amused," Sebastien answered with complete honesty. 

"They won't have a reason." Merrick looked ahead. His hands clenched at his sides, his body tense like an animal in mid-stalk. "I'll get him back." 

"Why bother?” Useless to argue, but Sebastien couldn't stop himself. This was one mystery that he simply didn't understand. “This obsession of yours...Nicky had a brain in his head, which is more than most of them have. Otherwise he's not any better than what we have--" 

"He's _mine_. And I'll get him back.” Merrick took a step towards him and jabbed his finger out. “To hell with you if you don't want to help me. Fuck you for rolling your eyes and heaving all those sighs of yours. If you're tired of me, then stay here. I can get him on my own.” 

Surprise made Sebastien tense. "You can’t just--" 

“Go to hell, Sebastien.” Merrick moved up and pushed past him. He stalked to the open door and his footsteps thudded up the stairs. 

Sebastien found himself wishing futilely for neither the first nor the last time that Nicky and his mother had never been chosen to come down. But when the footsteps faded, he stopped thinking futile thoughts. 

He followed his brother. 

* * *

By the time Nicky woke up, he was alone in bed and there was no sign of his company from last night. He stretched out under the covers and let himself wallow in that gray space that came between being asleep and being fully awake. 

He felt good. Tired, though: he got a good workout the night before, and there was still sun creeping through the curtains, so he was up earlier than usual. 

His mind had gone back, inevitably, to Joe, last night while he was out at the clubs. Joe’s reaction to finding out what he did for money had been small, though he'd seen hints of surprise and distaste. It was nothing he hadn't run into before in the months he'd been earning money using his body. 

He figured there was some part of growing up normal that he must have missed, something that taught most humans that sex was some holy thing and using it to benefit yourself was a horror. The whole thing amused him, in a distant way. It was one of a thousand things that reminded Nicky that he wasn't exactly normal. But that wasn't something he minded. As Joe himself said, what was normal, anyway? Joe wasn't, why should Nicky want to be? 

He rolled onto his side, reaching for the phone that sat on the worn, squat bedside table. None of the furniture in the hotel was any good, but he'd been there for so long that it at least felt like it was his. 

“Freeman's.” 

Nicky shut his mouth instantly at the hoarse voice that answered the phone. He hesitated, clutching the phone close to his ear. 

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Joe muttered after a moment, as if he were going to hang up. 

Nicky couldn't stop himself from speaking. “I was hoping Nile would answer.” 

“You. Why am I not surprised?” Joe sounded tired, or maybe Nicky had just been expecting more contempt. 

“You didn't say I couldn't call.” 

“I'm going to hang up the phone, which means you've got about ten seconds to tell me what it is you want. If anything.” 

“Just to hear you,” Nicky answered, fast and honest. 

“Oh, for...you didn't even think I'd answer.” 

“Well, to hear about you,” he amended, since that was more what he actually called for. “Nile is nicer than you are, you know. She even talked to me some, last time I called.” 

“Everyone's nicer than me. Get used to it.” 

Nicky grinned, rolling over on his back and holding the phone close against his ear. 

Joe caught himself fast. “No, don't get used to it. Seriously, what do you want? I told you I don't want you around, why do you keep popping up?” 

Nicky thought about that. 

He wasn't this sort of person. He had never made such a nuisance of himself before. He never had reason to. Below ground he had everything he wanted. On the surface, he hadn't met many people who interested him. He had friends, of course. People he met when he went out. There were people he liked very much, and those people were always welcoming whenever he wanted company. 

Joe was different. Joe had been different since the moment he first made a noise and got Merrick's attention, and helped Nicky to get away from him. 

Still, Nicky didn't recognize himself in this strange persistence, so he wasn't sure how to answer the question. 

Joe was _beautiful_ , in a wild kind of way. But Nicky was so used to beauty that it hardly factored. And Joe was...different, even in his handsomeness. He was obviously worn by life, hard and tired in ways Nicky hadn’t seen before. He was unkind, too, at least to Nicky. 

But he had saved him all the same. Nicky had never met anyone strong the way he was. Maybe that kind of strength had to be hard. 

But what did Nicky want? To thank him? He'd done that. To hear 'you're welcome'? Joe said it, though only to get rid of him. 

Did he want to be around Joe because of Merrick, because Merrick would try again to lure Nicky back underground? Because he was getting worse every time Nicky ran into him? Because Nicky was scared, and Joe was strong? 

He wasn't sure. Maybe that was part of it. Probably. 

Did Nicky want him? He didn't doubt it. He'd thought about it, sleeping long days away in his grimy hotel room. He thought about Joe while he was working last night. He wondered about his hands, if they were rough or soft, and what they might feel like on his body. What Joe’s long, solid body might feel like under Nicky’s hands. 

But Nicky wasn't short on partners to take to bed. It was his livelihood, after all. And even when he didn't want it to be work, he could still find plenty of people happy to sleep with him, male or female. 

What did it mean, then? Any of it? Joe fascinated him, and attracted him, and made him feel safe. Nicky couldn't stop thinking about him, wanting to know more and see more, even though he looked at Nicky with distaste. 

He frowned thoughtfully, listening to Joe's breathing quicken in his ear as he got impatient for an answer. 

“Well,” he said, musing, feeling out the idea as he voiced it. “I think I must be in love with you.” 

Joe made a noise like he was choking on his own breath. He hung up almost at once. 

Nicky wasn't surprised. He slipped the phone back to the table, thoughtful. 

It made sense to him. He had ruled out every other possibility. Besides, his mother used to say that it was love at first sight with her and his father, too. There must have been a reason that her saying that was one of the few memories Nicky’s spotty brain held from so long ago. 

Maybe it ran in the family, that sort of fanciful thinking. 

Interesting. 

* * *

He was supposed to be a cop. 

Leon had been on the force for ten years before his life fell apart and he ended up where he was now. Running a bar, barely squeaking by tending to the underclasses and supporting a race he never gave much of a thought about before things fell to shit. 

And shit it was. There were things about it – people – that he wouldn't change for the world. But sometimes Leon wanted nothing more than to go back thirty years. To stop Francine from ever leaving home. 

Sometimes he thought he would go further back. Sometimes he thought he might have been better off never having met Francine. Never learning her beliefs, never being infected by her spirit or left alone with... 

No. That wasn't fair, and that thought never lasted the rare moments he thought it. Being left with the kids? There wasn't anything about that he regretted. 

Without Francine he wouldn't have Nile, and Leon loved Nile more than his own life. He loved seeing Francine in Nile's face, and hearing himself in her words. She was brave and spirited and strong. Leon looked at Nile and knew how proud Francine would have been. Nile made him happier than anything else in his life ever could have. 

Joe... 

Well. Joe. 

Joe was responsible for most of the grey in Leon's hair, most of the slouch in his spine. But he couldn't measure Joe by the same standards he measured Nile. 

Joe got a raw deal. No one in the universe would argue that. He tried so hard to not care about anything, thanks to what life handed him in his past. Leon had seen it happen. He had seen the kind, artistic, fascinated child grow warped by the world around him. 

Joe ran away in his mind, in his heart, even when he wasn't literally running away for months at a time. But he always came back. He went against his most basic desire to stay unattached, and he came home to Nile and Leon time and again. 

He even tried not to care about the wolves. Leon didn't know the whole history, but he knew that after Joe ran away as a teenager, when he needed somewhere to belong, some pack of werewolves rejected him. His scent, Leon had heard time and again. He smelled wrong. Plus, he had no pack to speak of, and wolves were suspicious creatures. 

But all the same, he did care. Leon watched his face whenever they caught Andy's broadcast together. He watched Joe sit, intent and unmoving, as Andy read her ever-growing list of the missing. There was such pain in Joe, as if he let each of those wolves down. As if he owed them, and not the other way around. 

Joe could wear hostility as a costume when he felt like he needed to, but he cared so strongly for those wolves, and for Leon and Nile. 

Sometimes it was hard to remember that. Sometimes the costume was stronger than what was inside of it. Sometimes Leon couldn't handle the running and the hostility. 

But he wouldn't trade it. Not if it meant he would also have to trade knowing Joe. Because Leon’s son, what he survived and what he did every day, was truly remarkable. 

Still, all in all Nile and Joe and the bar were a thousand light years from where Leon planned to be two decades ago. 

He had been a cop. He was good at it. It wasn't something he discussed a lot anymore – wolves were rightfully wary of police – but it wasn't something he hid. It was just...another life. 

Though at times it did still come back to haunt him. 

“This is a raid!” 

Leon rolled his eyes but couldn't fight a smile when two men walked through the door. It was near enough to sunset that the wolves were gone for the night, which was the only reason he didn't get tense. That kind of joke could make a crowd of wolves nervous fast. 

But James walked through the door followed by his partner, grinning his old, familiar grin, and Leon couldn't get mad at all. 

Instead, he just smirked, adopting that painfully fake British accent he always used to make fun of his old partner. “Oh, no. Whatever will we do. The fuzz.” 

James laughed, loud and deep like twenty years had no effect on him. “Jesus, Leon, your lingo's a little dated.” 

“So are you, Copley.” 

They came up to the bar, James dropping himself on a stool. His partner sat more slowly, flashing the tight quickfire smile which was the most Leon ever saw out of him. 

Leon didn't think Richard Keane was a bad guy, but he obviously didn't know what to make of the known wolf-haunt that James dragged him to almost once a week. He was usually quiet while the two old friends chatted. 

“Beer?” Leon offered, already heading for the tap. 

James held up a hand fast. “Coke or something? Like I said...” His smile went crooked. “This is a raid.” 

Leon blinked, but turned and grabbed a couple of cans of soda from the little fridge under the back counter. “Been awhile since the last inspection, I guess I should've expected it.” 

“Expect it more often.” James nodded thanks as Leon threw some ice in a couple of glasses for them. “I know better than to warn you to follow the rules, because I know you do, but be careful for a while, okay? Extra careful.” 

Leon leaned against the bar, his eyebrows high. “What's going on?” 

James exchanged looks with his quiet partner and sighed. “This damned wolf that's been attacking people. With another full moon coming up there is pressure like you wouldn't believe to make sure it doesn't happen again. Any wolf haunts are going to be watched.” 

He spoke casually, but Leon felt something starting to slip up his spine, a tingle like foreboding. “Watched for illegal activity, or just watched?” 

“Officially, the first one. But there's less than a week before the full moon, and it's going to get worse every day. And... Leon.” He hesitated. 

That tingle got stronger. “Just say it, James. I'm sure it's nothing we don't expect.” 

James grimaced. 

When he hesitated to answer Keane spoke up, his voice gravel. “They're telling us to watch the places that have been trouble before. They're saying that's what these raids are, to catch any trouble before the full moon. But your place is near the top of their list for visits.” 

Leon nodded. “Even though we've never had a write-up for a single wolf issue.” 

It wasn't something he expected, but it didn't surprise him either. A lot of wolf-friendly places in the city were only incidentally wolf-friendly. The twenty-four-hour stores, or any place that opened during the day, whether they wanted wolves there or not. Freeman's was different. If their regular customers didn't make it obvious that they were pro-wolf, the fact that they didn't even bother trying to attract a night crowd did. 

James shot a sideway glance at his partner, then met Leon's eyes. “You should tell your kids to be careful.” 

Leon nodded. James meant Joe specifically, but wouldn't say anything detailed with Keane there. 

James had been his partner – absurdly young, shiny, ready to take on the world - twenty years ago, and was the only real friend he had left from his force days. James knew more about Joe than most humans – he knew what Joe was, at least, though he didn't know about any of his less legal activities helping other wolves. He knew Joe broke the law himself by staying in the city, but Joe was Leon's kid, and James knew him when he was a teenager. 

More importantly, James was a good enough man to realize that a lot of wolf laws were bullshit. His attitude was that if no one could see what Joe was, it wasn't their business what he did. 

Joe didn't push, and listened to James's warnings when he issued them. In return, James didn't punish him for existing. It was a successful relationship. 

But Keane knew none of this. He was a decent guy or James wouldn't have brought him to the bar at all, but he was no different than ninety percent of humans. He saw nothing wrong with the laws because he’d grown up with them. 

James liked the guy, said he made a good partner, and there was no sense shaking up that relationship, so he left Keane out of it. 

“Where are the kids, anyway?” James asked. 

Leon nodded back at the front door. “Out. Gave them both the evening off, and Nile made sure that they're spending it together.” He cleared his throat, leaning against the bar. “I guess the night of the moon's gonna be pretty intense from your end.” 

James rolled his eyes. “Fucking hell. They've canceled time-off and scheduled everybody on the force to get out on the streets that night.” He frowned at Leon. “Can't blame them, either. This wolf is serious bad news.” 

“He hasn't hurt anyone too badly, from what I hear.” 

“Leon, come on. I know you work with wolves, I know you like them well enough. But it's no kind of life, living like them. None of the people that wolf attacked have died, but their lives are over anyway. It's hard to watch what they go through. You don't see that side of things.” 

Leon shrugged, knowing they'd have to change the subject soon before they started rehashing old arguments. “If their lives are over it's not because their eyes are yellow. It's because of the mile-long list of laws they're suddenly under the heel of.” 

James frowned, but shot Leon a measured look and relaxed. Old argument, yeah, and they were good enough friends that they could just wave it off. 

Keane wasn't used to them enough to know that. He spoke hesitantly, maybe to stave off the argument he thought was coming. “It's not just the cops, you know.” 

Leon and James both looked over at him. “What does that mean?” James asked his partner. 

Keane was a big guy: his hands swallowed that cup he was sipping out of, and Leon could feel his knees hitting the back of the counter as he sat on that stool. He was big, overly-serious from being relatively new on the force. He'd always been quiet around Leon, but he didn't know if that was how Keane was all the time. He was older for a rookie cop, but he had a gravity to him. He'd seen some things. Ex-military, same as Leon. Leon could see that in his bearing. 

All in all, Leon didn't know what to make of him. He just knew he relaxed more easily when James came in alone. 

Keane looked over at Leon, a wary look, and talked to James. “There's a lotta talk underground about this wolf, and the moon coming up.” 

James looked as surprised as Leon felt. “How the hell do you know what's going on underground?” 

Keane flushed, which was surprising on his blunt, big features. “I'm just saying, there's a lot of talk that Meta and the governor are meeting more often lately, and the word underground is something's coming on the full moon.” He flashed a there-and-gone smile. “Of course with the fangs you can never tell if that kind of thing is serious. They like to _proclaim_ shit. Make everything seem important.” 

“That doesn't answer my question,” James said, his brow furrowed and almost worried. “How the hell do you know all this?” 

Keane shot another awkward look at Leon. “You know the last time the fangs picked a human to turn?” 

Leon nodded along with James. It was big news topside whenever fangs let someone new into their fold. It was in the papers and everything. Meta's tribe was notorious for being selective. 

“The governor’s kid, a few years back.” 

“Celeste.” Keane flashed a faint smile. “Celeste Broadbent.” 

“You knew her?” Leon guessed. 

“Almost all my life.” His face was red, but he spoke with blunt honesty. “If they waited six more months to recruit her she would’ve been Celeste Keane.” 

James gaped at him. Leon whistled under his breath. 

“Shit, rook. You never told me you were practically _engaged_.” 

Keane shrugged. “They picked her for the tribe months before she was actually changed. They've got all these rules, it's this huge process. So I found out...I mean, she took off, you know...before you and me got partnered up. After that it didn't seem worth talking about.” 

“So this girl got the invitation to be turned and just took off on you?” James sounded indignant. 

Keane shrugged. He took a swallow of his soda as if it was something stronger. “Anyone would have. It's a big deal. Anyway, you don't know Celeste.” He grinned. “She was always too good for me. She's fucking gorgeous, smartest person I ever met. She's got all this ambition. She’s nothing like her dad, but she grew up with money and she likes it. She'd've been miserable being maried to a cop.” 

James stared at his partner like he'd never met him before. 

Keane looked over at Leon. “I know you guys around here don't like fangs much. But they let me go down to see Celeste. They've got rules about family getting access while they're still alive, and I guess she made the case for me to be considered family. So I hear some things that a lot of people don't hear.” 

He met Leon's eyes, his gaze not skittering away like usual. “When I tell you something's coming, or at least that the fangs talk like something's coming...I’ve got grounds to know.” 

Leon nodded slowly, exchanging long looks with James. 

It was an unexpected place to hear a warning from, but that didn't make the warning any less valid. 

Leon had the sudden, strong feeling like maybe he shouldn't have let Nile and Joe go out into the streets that night. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A surprise confrontation has a surprise ending. Nile meets her first fangs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to post a chapter every other day, which means this one is a day late. My bad.

Meta was supposed to love all her children equally. 

When she herself was first turned she had been a member of a tribe that had obvious hierarchies based on their leader's fickle affections, and when she left to go her own way she knew that she wouldn't make the same mistake. Unequal devotion bred resentment, resentment lessened respect. There were better ways to encourage people to better themselves. There were better ways of earning loyalty. 

She was a Mother to her children in terminology only. When vampires left humanity behind, they left all family ties. The symbolic restoration of a little of that loss seemed to help the transition. Meta had turned many of her children, but not all of them. Being the source of their change wasn't required to regard herself as Mother. They were part of her family, and she was the head. Therefore, she was Mother and they were children. 

She had her two closest sons, her lieutenants, and if she held Merrick and Sebastien closest in her heart that was simply the way that things had to be. Among the rest of the tribe, though, she should have loved them equally. She did love them all, this strong group of beautiful children filling her small city. 

But she couldn't deny a particular fondness for a few above the rest. 

Celeste was Meta's youngest. The last to be brought into the fold. Perhaps that made Meta fonder of her than she would be in another decade's time, when the novelty of newness wore away. But other than being so young and new, Celeste was simply _different_ than most of her sons and daughters. 

She couldn't remember the last time Celeste went aboveground. She wandered the underground city, she read every book Meta brought to her. She stayed quiet, listened to everything, but her brain was never not working. A world away from her egotistical and brainless father, though he wasn’t without his value. 

Celeste was a favorite of the Devoted, Meta had been told. She spoke to them, sometimes having such long conversations that she forgot to feed. She had a way of drawing them out of the stupor that venom caused. She tended to them – their scars were never so neatly cleaned and tended as when they left Celeste's rooms. She made sure they ate, she didn't send them away until they were strong. 

She wasn't a caretaker, though. They talked about her as if she was, as if her kindness was for its own sake. But Meta knew her children. She knew the difference between sincere kindness and a desire to simply be the best at whatever she did. Celeste wasn't kind: she was ambitious. She was all-in, from the moment she was chosen to be changed. She had no interest in coasting on her father’s name and position, she very much wanted be the strongest and the best vampire she could be. Right now, she was still learning what that meant. 

Merrick, with all his self-centeredness, would have scoffed at the idea that being a good vampire meant having to tend to his meals like a nurse. But Meta knew how the Devoted spoke about Celeste, and how they spoke about Merrick. 

Celeste would lead her own tribe someday. Merrick never would. 

Celeste was born and raised in Seattle, the only native Meta had ever turned. Wealthy and crass parents, important in the city if utterly distasteful personally. Then-Mayor Broadbent had been thrilled that his daughter was chosen to be one of the rare and privileged. Meta could ask him for anything, especially now that he was Governor Broadbent. 

The man was insufferable, though. If Celeste had been her father’s daughter in more than just name, she never would have been invited underground. 

The only ones who had come to visit Celeste underground were her stepsister and the man that she had been involved with at the time she was chosen. They seemed to get along well, which wasn't the case for all families split apart by the change: the two still visited her often, anyway. Governor Broadbent made the trip underground several times, but always to talk to Meta. As far as she knew Lewis hadn’t paid Celeste much attention. 

Just as well. 

Meta liked the stepsister; she was deceptively quiet and keen-eyed, very much like Celeste. She wasn’t given to awed displays over being allowed into the underground. Meta had a feeling that she had done more to raise Celeste than their idiot parents had. It was something of a wonder, those two clever and introspective children being raised by that oaf. 

Meta had also met that old boyfriend once or twice. An over-large, slow man who seemed as far opposite to precise, intelligent Celeste as it would be possible to get. Meta understood nothing about that relationship. 

Celeste's home was unusual in the city because she carried so many memories from her human life. She liked television and music, and her visitors fed her a steady stream. She had photographs on the walls. She was attached to life, still, and Meta suspected that she never went aboveground because for her the separation was still too near. 

But time would inevitably pass. Her two regular visitors would grow too old to visit, and they would die, as all humans died. It would be that, Meta predicted, that would sever Celeste from her old life. It was then that she would start going aboveground again and relearning the world as a new woman. 

Meta couldn't wait. Celeste was a brilliant addition to the tribe so far. Once she was untethered entirely from the human world, she would be incredible. 

She didn't need permission to enter the homes of her children, but she knocked all the same. When Celeste didn't answer right away she pushed the door open. She heard voices in the back, and assumed that Celeste's doting human lover was back yet again. 

She was pleased to be wrong. It was her stepsister, sitting cross-legged with Celeste on her bed. 

Meta smiled, sincere. "Quynh." 

Quynh returned the smile instantly, untangling from the bed and moving to her, hand outstretched. She was always respectful, always polite. "Meta, hello." 

Meta shook the offered hand, amused, and moved to greet Celeste. She held out the gift she'd brought. "'Vlad the Impaler.'" 

Celeste laughed, taking the book. “Thank you.” 

Meta squeezed her arm gently. "Come by when you need more distraction. I have a whole collection of new books." 

Celeste smiled, already opening the cover and scanning the first pages. "Thank you, Mother." 

Meta turned to Quynh. "Now that I've ruined any chance you had of holding a conversation with your sister, walk with me back to my home. It's been too long since we've talked." 

Without hesitation Quynh stepped with her out into the dark, cool air of the road. "Vlad the Impaler?" 

Meta laughed. "I admit to sharing Celeste's interest in those old folktales and mythologies humans created for our kind. The truth must have been something of a disappointment to them." 

"You imagine we would prefer to be beheaded?" 

"Some of you would stretch your necks out the moment I asked, even if I had the axe in my hand." 

She laughed. “It's grim just how true that is.” 

Meta studied Quynh's profile as they strolled the straight path back to her house. She didn't mind her presence there, but Quynh was still human. Still part of a world that Meta didn't want too close to her own. 

"Quynh." 

She turned to Meta instantly, expectant. 

"Do you think it was a mistake? The choice your sister made?" 

Quynh shook her head without hesitation. “At first I wasn't sure. She enjoys life, she wants too much. But time is changing her. I suppose she enjoys it less urgently, now that she has so much time to experience it.” 

Meta smiled, pleased to hear her own thoughts about Celeste confirmed. 

Quynh went on, though. “She's less human each time I visit. She'll be more vampire than human in another few years, I think. And when that happens I won't visit anymore. I assume her old life will be a burden by then.” 

Quynh was as attractive as her sister, and strikingly different thanks to her Asian features. She was as strange as Celeste, as well. A self-contained and calm woman who seemed to hold whole worlds in her head that she alone was privy to. She was a novelty, which made her interesting. 

“What about you?” Meta had once taken it as a given that every human alive would kill to be turned, but her own beloved Sebastien had rid her of that assumption long ago. 

Quynh glanced over, eyebrows raised. But she was quick for a human, and Meta was pleased when she interpreted the question correctly. 

“I don't think I'd take to it,” she said with a faint smile, looking, as usual, like there were levels to her words that only she understood. “It took me a long time to grow comfortable in my own body. I wouldn't want to change what I am now for anything.” 

Meta nodded, smiling to herself. A rarity, like her sister. Like Sebastien. Like all Meta’s best children. If she ever changed her mind, Meta might consider asking her tribe to vote on her. 

"Still. You know our laws. You know the things that vampires hold sacred." 

Quynh nodded. 

"Never break those laws, Quynh, and you will always be welcome here." 

* * *

He should have had something to eat before they left. 

It was dangerous to be out on the street at night as it was. Even more dangerous to be moving in an area where he knew fangs had been. Going without food, without something to pacify him against whatever might pop up, that was just irresponsible. It was almost the week before the full moon, and Joe was smarter than that. With everything going on he was lucky to be up and moving at all, and a werewolf's body burned up everything it took in so fast. 

But he hadn’t felt hungry. Not since...since dropping dead and coming back to life. And he needed answers. He had a city full of wolves to worry about. He needed to know what Merrick was talking about when he said the other wolves would follow Joe into death. He needed to know what was coming. 

Then again, he also had company. That was going to make him more cautious than he wanted to be. 

“--to know exactly who they're buying this stuff from, because...Jesus, you should taste it, Joe. It's straight up crap. Not even crap, it’s like generic _imitation_ crap--” 

Nile thought they were headed out to make a supply run for the bar, and on the surface of it they were. But she hadn’t seemed to notice him taking the long way around. Joe wanted to pass the alley where he found the fangs the first time. He wanted to see who was around and what they were up to. 

“--think I don’t know you’re not listening to a word I’m saying, but I do. I’m actually a little crushed by it. I might cry, and won’t that make you feel awkward.” 

He glanced over at Nile, rolling his eyes at the mock solemn look on her face. “Got important things on my mind here.” 

“Oooh, important things. Excuse the hell out of me. Let me just shut my mouth while you keep leaving me out of the big important thoughts you’re having.” 

“Oh, Jesus.” He smiled despite himself. 

“Hey, who exactly is that Nicky guy?” 

“What?” There went the smile. “He’s just...he's nobody. What do you care?” 

“You mentioned him the other day, asking how we knew you got bit. How does he know more about my brother’s business than I do?” 

“By accident, that’s how.” Joe snorted, waving a hand in dismissal. “He’s _seriously_ nobody.” 

She looked dubious. 

“Less than nobody. A black hole of a person. The absence of significant.” 

Her eyebrows rose higher by the word. “Uh huh.” 

Joe felt his face warm up, and hell if he could figure that out. 

“He’s not a wolf.” 

“Nope, plain old human.” 

“Is he cute?” 

Joe looked over at her. “I…don't...you met him.” 

“Yeah, but I want to know if _you_ think he's cute.” 

He elbowed her as they moved around the corner. “Who cares? He's strange, and…annoying. I doubt I’m ever gonna see him again, so it doesn’t matter.” 

"But he knew things about you that we didn’t, and you thought there was a chance he told us those things.” 

"He found the bar. And I know he's called." He shot her a dark look. 

Nile laughed faintly, which was her usual response to his grimness. “That he has. But he won't say anything about how you two met. Just that you saved his life, which seems incredibly uncharacteristic to me, so.” 

He heaved a breath and shot Nile a hard look, but when she only looked back with a raised eyebrow he gave in. "I met him the night I got bit. Got the fangs' attention away from him. It wasn't…” 

She looked over, waiting. 

He scowled at an oncoming couple so hard that they split apart a good ten feet ahead of them and moved around on either side. "It's nothing. He's just feeling grateful. Otherwise he wouldn't be slumming around me. He's not the type." 

Nile blinked. "Not following you." 

“He's a _pet_ , Nile.” Joe pulled her to the right with him, moving down 2nd Ave. “Or. He used to be, anyway. Besides, he’s a human, and he’s...I don't know, crazy or something. That’s it. That’s all it is.” 

“Uh huh. Well, he speaks highly of you. Highly enough that 'crazy' might be pretty accurate.” 

He shrugged. "Maybe he's masochistic." 

“Maybe.” 

"Maybe he's greedy." 

"Greedy?" 

Joe glared over at her. "Get the smirk off your face. It's no joke." 

Her eyebrows flew up at the challenge. 

"He thinks it's funny to fuck with me, that's all. I'm getting tired of it fast." 

"Doesn't strike me as that kind of guy." 

Joe snorted. "Oh, of course not. He's gotta come off like some angel-faced sweetheart who just wants everyone to smile and feel joy." He looked out ahead of them. They were close to the alley that had started all this, finally. 

He couldn’t shake the tension, though. Tension that had nothing to do with possibly tracking fangs. 

“He wants something from me,” he said tersely. It felt closer to the truth than any other options he’d considered so far. 

“Psht. Like what?” 

“I don’t know. But he’ll come out with it sooner or later.” 

Nile scoffed. “You’re supposed to be the worldly one of the two of us, Joe. I’d say it’s pretty clear what he wants from you. He’s cute, and he’s nice. So why not give it to him?” 

Joe blinked over at her. “Are you seriously telling me to get laid?” 

She grinned. “Couldn’t hurt your disposition any.” 

Joe wanted to grin back, to let this turn into some kind of…teasing, something lighthearted. Something that reminded he and Nile what they were to each other, under everything else. 

But he kept hearing Nicky’s voice in his head, and he just couldn’t find any of this amusing. 

“I told him to get lost, and if he’s smart that’s what he’s gonna do. And I don’t want to talk about him anymore, so change the subject.” 

Nile raised her hands, palms out. "Whoa. Unarmed here, Joe. Just you never talk about guys, or girls. Not _ever_. So I was wondering-" 

"Nile. Stop. I mean it. Don't mention him again." 

She studied him, and Joe turned away from her eyes. 

_I think I must be in love with you._

Jesus. Joe scrubbed at his face, trying to forget that phone conversation ever happened. 

Nile cleared her throat, looking away down the street ahead of them. "So, wait. What are we doing way out here?" 

"This is where I ran into them the first time." 

"Them? Wait, the vampires? The one that bit you?” Her eyes went wide, steps slowing as she looked around. 

“I just wanted to see if they’d be around again. One of them said something that’s bothering me.” 

“That...huh. Sounds completely stupid and dangerous,” she answered. 

Joe couldn't exactly argue with that. 

It was well after nightfall, and they weren't in the heart of the tourist crowds but they were just a few blocks away. It was still crowded enough to make him edgy. 

Nile walked beside him, looking around the sidewalks. “This is badass. We're fang-hunting. Well? Give a sniff, see if anyone's around." 

Joe raised his eyebrows over at Nile. He lifted his head and breathed in noisily. 

Nile elbowed him. "Can you be subtle? Jesus." 

He grinned but drew in another deep breath without making a show of it. "Fangs are hard to pick up," he said. 

"What do they smell like?" 

Joe hesitated, frowning. There was blood in the air, but it was a busy night and he wasn't sure which direction or what kind of blood. Restaurants and accidents and rats fighting in alleys: the city always had blood running through it. 

"There are too many humans out here,” he said, not an answer but not exactly a change of subject. 

"So?" 

"So. Humans don't smell like one thing. They smell like a thousand things. They smell like everything they’ve ever walked near or put on or eaten." 

Nile grinned. "Really? What do I smell like?" 

Joe flashed her a look. “You don’t want to know.” 

“Seriously.” 

"I don't know what's you and what's any of these other assholes walking _too close to us_." He raised his voice, earning a few dirty looks from the people rushing off to work around them. 

"Charming. But come on, you're the big tracker. You can't pick a target and follow it?" 

"When have I ever tracked anything?" 

"You didn't go snorting the air trying to find a joint, or a needle, or whatever the hell you were on?" 

Joe shot her a look, but Nile’s expression was innocent. Even amused. As if the shit she knew about Joe now that she didn't know before...as if it didn't matter. It was just one more thing to tease him about. 

Something twitched in his gut. Something warm. 

He elbowed her. "If I wanted drugs there were easy ways to find them. That was the whole problem. Anyway, chemicals are chemicals. You can smell the substance, and you can smell the echo of it on skin and in sweat and urine and vomit and shit." 

Nile made a face. "Joe. For Christ's sake." 

He shrugged, mouth twitching. "I was too fucked up to know where to aim my nose. Didn't want to end up face-first in a pile of puke because it had traces of something I wanted in it." 

"You're disgusting." 

"I mean, someone else's puke. I can't even tell you how often I woke up face-first in my _own_ \--" 

"Stop it!" Nile punched his arm, hard. “Jesus fucking _ew_ , Joe.” 

He laughed. 

It startled out of him, full and sincere. Not a chuckle and not hard and not fake. A real laugh. 

He slowed his steps, surprised at himself. He couldn't remember the last time he did that. Really laughed. 

Nile looked back as he fell behind. "What?" 

He met her eyes and smiled, small and uncertain but for a moment as real as that laughter. “Just. Sometimes I forget what a child you are.” 

“Oh.” Nile returned the grin. She back-stepped far enough to grab Joe's arm and drag him along with her. “I mean, hey! What? I’m not--” 

Joe laughed again, softer. 

“You're such a dick.” 

He drew in a breath to answer, but before he could he picked up a scent. 

Blood again, but closer. Thinner. 

Familiar. 

His smile vanished and he drew in a more deliberate breath. There was no way of telling two fangs apart by their scent, so he couldn't tell instantly if it was someone he'd run into before. But there was at least one out there. Close. 

He looked around. 

They had left that fateful alley behind without him even noticing it pass, and the scent was coming from dead ahead. 

Probably not the same one. Not Merrick, unless Joe's luck had suddenly changed. 

Nile watched him carefully. "You found something?" 

He nodded and held a hand up to keep Nile back. Holding his breath, he peered down the narrow space behind the glass-walled corporate office of some bank. 

Tall, sandy-haired, broad form, next to a shorter and thinner pale one. 

That second fang, Sebastien, was there with Merrick. They were huddled together, looking like they were having some kind of argument. 

Just the fangs he wanted to see. 

Jesus. 

His heart jumped, lurching a loud beat in his chest. His hands closed into fists, and the wolf inside of him growled at the sight of enemies, a threat to his kind. 

"Stay here," he managed to rasp back to his sister before moving into the alley. 

Joe didn't care what brought them there, and he didn't care about Sebastien. His eyes stayed on Merrick, and the wound in his throat ached. He felt dangerous, and he didn't give Nile another thought. 

"Hey!" 

The fangs turned to him. The utter shock that rounded Merrick's eyes in the next instant was gratifying. 

Joe grinned, sharp. "Surprised to see me?" 

Merrick's shock didn't fade, but it was joined by anger. "I thought I exterminated you, insect." 

Joe moved in. The words, the anger, stirred his instincts. It would be a fight. 

Good. 

Some voice in his head, quiet and murmuring and sounding like Leon, reminded him that he was there for answers. That he needed to tone things down. To try and speak to the rational one, Sebastien, if he really wanted to play it smart. 

But Leon had always been easy to ignore, even though ignoring him always led to regrets later. 

“No matter, I'll exterminate you now.” Merrick's eyes flickered past him and he grinned, fangs on display. "And you brought me a second course." 

Joe didn't look back; he knew at once what Merrick meant. "Damn it, Nile, I told you to stay put." 

"What's the chance I'd listen, though?" Nile reached him, her eyes straight ahead on the vampires. “This the one who...?” 

“Bloodied me up a little bit and then went flouncing away in fear of getting himself in trouble? Yeah, that's him.” 

Merrick snarled, but Sebastien took hold of his arm to keep him from moving. 

Joe’s attention moved to the second fang then. Unlike Merrick, there was no anger in Sebastien's expression. His eyes were wide in shock, his mouth open. He was looking at Joe with all the surprise that came from seeing someone he thought was dead, but over that surprise was some other reaction, something Joe couldn’t interpret. 

He didn't even seem to notice Nile yet. His grip on Merrick seemed entirely separate from his thoughts, like his body was working on automatic. His eyes stayed intent on Joe. 

“How are you alive?” he asked after their gazes locked for a few long moments. No anger in those words, just awe. 

Trying to ignore the disconcerted way that reaction made him feel, Joe forced a smirk. “I guess your friend there isn't as potent as he thinks he is.” 

Sebastien held a struggling Merrick with both hands, his focus never leaving Joe's face. “It's not possible.” 

"Answer him, wolf!" Merrick strained against the grip on his arms, speaking over Sebastien. 

“Or what?” Nile answered, stepping up as if to defend Joe in the same way Sebastien held Merrick back. Absurd, but for the moment Joe was too distracted to stop her. “You're gonna _not_ kill him again? Ooh, scary.” 

Joe had to give his sister credit. He didn't want Nile there: humans were way out of their league when fangs or wolves fought, much less fought each other. But she faced the fangs without a hint of fear, and Joe was forced to remember just how strong she was. 

Sebastien's gaze flickered to Nile, and narrowed as he took her in. "Nile. Was that your name?"

She lofted her chin, but looked right back at him. "Does it matter?"

Sebastien’s expression changed, softened. "Sebastien," he said. "Le Livre." 

Joe frowned between the two of them. Whatever this was turning into he already hated it. 

"Your name is Sebastien the book?" Nile replied, her mouth twitching upward.

"You speak French." Sebastien studied her. “You…you are human,” he said slowly, and though it wasn't a question there was doubt in his eyes. 

She smirked. “It's not so easy to tell, is it? Joe's got you all messed up, huh?” 

Sebastien's eyes returned to him, but slowly. “Joe,” he repeated. 

Joe winced, but tried his best to hide it. Beside him Nile tensed. 

Merrick struggled in Sebastien's grasp. “Let me go. I can finish this once and for all.” 

“Don't you realize...” Sebastien stopped himself. His grip seemed to tighten. “No. Calm down. Meta said--” 

Joe jumped on that, giving an adrenaline-widened grin. “Right, I heard you talked to mommy about me. Must have your whole little tribe running scared, huh?” 

Even as he said it, though, he knew the danger in it. The enormity of the mistake he’d just made, carried away by his temper. 

The little luck he had in life so far came from the fact that he could walk the streets as a human and no one thought twice about it. Now the fangs and their leader and their stupid Firstborn foreign bosses knew that he existed. 

All that this second run-in would tell them was that they weren't looking for a corpse, and the two fangs weren't wrong about what he was. 

He made the wrong move. Again. He kept letting his anger drive him and it was going to destroy everything. 

Frustrated at himself, he grabbed Nile's arm and nudged her backward, getting between her and the fangs. Sebastien, he couldn’t help but notice, tried his best to look past him. To look at Nile. 

Joe wasn’t going to let that happen. This mistake could haunt him, fine, but it wouldn’t put a target on Nile. 

His gaze snapped to Merrick. "You out here hunting pets again?" 

Merrick's mouth thinned. "You're the beast here. I don't hunt." But his voice was strange, and he twitched a little. 

Joe knew instantly that he was right. They really were hanging around waiting for Nicky. Joe hadn’t bothered to look at the address Nicky wrote out for him, but he would have put money on it being somewhere between this alley and the one he first found Nicky in. 

Nicky hadn't been exaggerating. Merrick was really obsessed with him. 

"Nicky isn't out here," he said, rewarded by the visible tightening of Merrick's body at the sound of that name. "He's found better company." 

"What, you?" Merrick wrenched his arm from Sebastien and moved forward. "You're dead, wolf." 

"You already tried that, remember?" 

"I won't fail twice." 

Joe knew what was coming. “Nile, get back!” 

"Merrick, damn it." Sebastien tore his eyes from Nile a beat too late. He took long strides after Merrick, once again a voice of reason that neither Merrick nor Joe could be bothered with. 

Merrick evaded him easily. And Joe was ready. 

Merrick was a rush of movement as he closed the distance between them, but for some reason he wasn't nearly as fast as he had been that first night. Instead of losing him in a blur, Joe’s eyes tracked him as he darted in, and so Joe was ready for him. He caught Merrick’s arm easily as he grabbed for Joe. 

Merrick snarled in surprise, lunging toward him face-first. 

Sloppy, trying to land a bite on unrestrained prey. Joe twisted, driving his shoulder up. The thump of Merrick's forehead against his shoulder sent Joe stumbling back. Fangs were strong, and Merrick was using that strength. 

But Merrick went backwards too, flailing, and hit the wall. 

Something more than Nicky must have been distracting the fang, because when he struck again, Joe dodged him without much effort, shaking him off when he tried to grab at his arm, his clothes. 

Merrick snarled, furious when he couldn't get a hold of Joe. He backed up suddenly. "Sebastien." 

Joe's eyes went to the other fang instantly. "Stay out of this." 

Sebastien was watching Joe again, shock even deeper on his face. Joe didn't bother guessing what he was so startled about, but he sure as hell didn’t like the way he kept looking at both him and his sister with so much intensity. 

Merrick didn't take his gaze off Joe. " _Sebastien_. Get the human." 

Whatever amusement Joe felt at being equal to the fang vanished in a red cloud. He growled at the mere suggestion of threat to Nile. The wolf under his skin scratched at him to move. To protect. 

It was his turn to charge, and the world seemed to blur into streaks as he barreled at Merrick and bowled him over. Merrick hit the ground and Joe landed on top him. His clawed hands made for Joe’s throat, but Joe caught his wrist and they locked together. The flash of fangs was white against Merrick's snarling mouth, and Joe answered that snarl with an elbow into his stomach. 

Merrick scratched at Joe’s arm, nails slicing gashes into his wrist. Joe felt no pain. Nothing but fury. Merrick had threatened Nile. Threatened Joe's family. He was dead. The fang was fucking dead. 

Merrick arched suddenly, knocking him away and slipping like a snake out of his grasp and onto his feet. Joe scrambled to stand, checking to make sure Nile was okay. 

Sebastien stood right where he’d been. He wasn't watching his pal fight, but he wasn’t making a move to help. His eyes were on Nile. 

She was looking from him to the fighters, something strange in her face. 

Joe’s skin prickled, a different kind of territorial urge coming over him. 

But he turned back to Merrick and grinned fiercely. "How does it feel, knowing your pet would rather be with a wolf than with you?" 

Merrick lunged, fury turning any response into a choked grunt as he drove Joe against the wall. 

His breath whooshed out as his back hit the cement, but he was ready. When Merrick came in for the kill he dropped, catching the fang in the chest with his shoulder, shoving with every bit of the strength surging through his body. 

Merrick hit the opposite wall and for a moment he stayed there, panting. His fangs bared. "You know something? I'm glad you didn't die the other night. You should be around for the full moon. You should watch every filthy animal like you get brought down." 

Joe snarled right back at him. "You think I'm scared of your threats? You couldn't even manage to kill me, you pasty prick." 

Merrick grinned. "But all the other wolves I've killed have stayed dead." 

Joe’s world went red. 

He was on him in a flash, his hand fastened around Merrick's throat. "How many? How many have you killed?" 

"You can't stop what's coming, _dog_." Merrick laughed in puffs of strangled air. "And you can't kill me." 

"No?" He squeezed harder. Merrick's head dropped back, hitting the wall, but he gasped out those wheezing laughs still. 

Fangs didn't need to breathe regularly. Joe knew that, and remembering it made his fury rise all over again. 

His gaze dropped to Merrick's stretched neck, and the sudden pulse of a vein in the fang's throat sparked something inside of Joe that he had never felt before. Some new urge, dark and deep and as loud as his wolf instincts. 

The world beyond the two of them grayed to black, and everything inside of him was captivated by the play of veins in Merrick’s throat. The fang was laughing, but his throat was strained and tight, pale sinewy lines of muscles stretching under his skin. Joe stared at those inches of skin, and he _hungered_. 

He answered the urging without hesitation, bending his head as he stepped in closer, wrenching Merrick's head back and baring his throat. Somehow he came in at the right angle, and somehow his teeth sliced into Merrick’s skin with unnatural ease. 

The taste of his blood filled his mouth. 

Joe wasn’t thinking, wasn’t expecting anything. But when he got a taste of that blood, he knew it was _wrong._ It was cool and sour copper, thick as oil. Foul. Dead. 

The taste made him recoil, getting through to him in a way nothing else had since Merrick first threatened Nile. 

When he pushed back and stumbled away from the vampire, his urges receded and the rest of the world filtered back in bit by bit. 

His eyes locked on Merrick's neck, on the gash sending a thick trail of dark blood down under his shirt. Two perfect gashes that would leave scars on the fang forever. 

Merrick seemed to be slowed by shock. His hand came up to his throat, and he gaped at the dark red coating his fingers when he drew them back. 

"Merrick?" Sebastien moved past Joe and scrambled to his friend's side. He leaned in to look at the wound before looking back at Joe, startled at last out of that strange awe that had gripped him this whole time. 

Joe swallowed, almost gagging on the foul blood taste in his mouth. He reached up, noting from a distance the trembling in his hands. 

There were points on his teeth. Two sharp points rasping against the tip of his fingers. 

He looked up, and for a moment his eyes met Sebastien's. For a moment, he shared the fang's shock, his confusion. 

He swallowed down fear and the taste of dead blood. 

Sebastien grabbed Merrick's arm. "Go." And then "Go!" when Merrick didn't move fast enough. 

The sadistic fang stumbled a little, but they moved fast down the alley and into the street, out of Joe’s sight. 

Joe turned. 

Nile backpedaled when he looked at her. Her face was blanched, her wide eyes locked on his mouth. 

Joe’s hand was still shaking as he wiped the blood, Merrick's blood, from his face and beard. 

* * *

Andy took pity on Joe and interrupted Quynh’s lengthy explanation finally. "Look at it this way: your car's sputtering on old oil, what do you do? You put in the new stuff. If you just take worn-out oil from a different car, it's not gonna help." 

Joe wiped at his mouth again, though he'd scrubbed his face hard enough that his skin ached. He'd spent a good twenty minutes locked inside Quynh and Andy's bathroom when they first got to the apartment. 

Quynh sighed, her hand absently falling on Andy's leg as they sat together on their worn couch. "That metaphor's a little simplistic, but that's the basic idea." 

“Simplistic isn't always bad, honey.” 

"Alright, I get why his blood tasted like shit. Vampires can’t feed on other vampires. Great. Does someone want to tell me why or how I took a bite in the first place?" 

The lovebirds fell silent. They exchanged looks. 

Joe glanced over at Nile, still hushed and drawn on the chair where she'd dropped when they came in. Bad enough this happened at all, it had to happen in front of her. 

She caught him looking and roused from her slouch with a painfully fake smile. "Alright, you two. Answer the question." 

"It's…this is complex," Quynh said finally. “I could only guess.” 

Joe dropped his head into his hands, tugging at his beard in frustration. “Knock yourself out.” 

"Bloodlust is possible for a vampire, for one who's starving, but it's nothing like the hunger of a wolf. Nothing violent. It is hard for a vampire to starve to death, and their bodies are aware of that.” 

Andy frowned. "Sounds to me like you had a wolf emotion and responded with a vampire instinct." 

"No shit." Joe's heart gave a sudden, lurching beat, and he dropped a hand to his chest, rubbing absently. Intermittent heartbeats were getting real damn old. 

"So, is that it? I'm just somehow a fang now? Am I gonna end up having to bite people in the neck to get my food? Because the idea isn't appealing to me." 

“I suppose it's possible.” Quynh regarded him. "I wonder if you make venom." 

Joe looked up, his hands balling. 

She raised a hand. "Sorry. You're not an experiment." 

"No. I'm not." Joe's anger faded into something else. He asked again, an almost plaintive note in his voice. "Is this gonna happen again?" 

"There's no precedent for you, Joe." Quynh's eyes lowered. "If a vampire and a wolf are both fighting to get their instincts heard inside you, I can't begin to predict who will win." 

Joe dropped his face into his hands again. He could feel the points of his teeth, his _fangs_ , digging into the inside of his lip. Whatever it was that brought them out, they weren’t going away. 

Fangs and red eyes and rare heart beats, and god only knew what would happen to him next. His body wasn’t his anymore. None of it felt right. 

A touch on his shoulder made him tense, but he couldn’t lift his head. 

Quynh spoke near him, soft. "If you need blood to live, it doesn't have to be horrible. If you can find a Devoted of your own…" 

His mind went instantly to Nicky, to his drawn expression as he confessed to escaping the blankness of venom. His stomach threatened to lurch just as fast. “No." 

Quynh squeezed his arm until he looked over. "Werewolves are the opposite of vampires, physiologically. Fang blood dies without outside replenishment. Wolves' blood is full of so much energy that it’s possible for their bodies to go through such a grueling change on the full moon and then recover in a single day. If you could find a werewolf to give you blood, you could probably go weeks between feeds." 

"I _am_ a werewolf." Joe grimaced. "I don't want to hear this." 

Quynh's voice was tinged with sympathy. "They could just drain it out and hand over a glassful. The venom wouldn't ever touch them, and you could--" 

"That’s enough." Joe straightened off the wall he was leaning against. "Come on, Nile. Leon's gonna take it out on me if you're gone too long." 

“Joe.” Nile stood up, looking from him to Andy and Quynh. “You can't just run from this.” 

Joe smirked, and it felt heavy and flat and false. “Watch me.” 

* * *

Merrick's hands were shaking. His stomach churned with unpleasant warmth. He was breathing audibly as the girl kneeling at his side slipped the washcloth down his throat one more time. 

Not enough. Never enough. There was wolf all over him. Wolf saliva on his skin, in his veins. He would never get clean of it. He would never shake it off. The memory of that foul wolf, those abnormal eyes. The fangs. 

Sebastien prattled the whole way home about what it meant, and how impossible it all was. Merrick refused to care. There was no mystery there that outweighed the basic facts: Merrick was going to get Nicky away from that wolf, and that wolf was going to die. Hard. Slow, as horrible as Merrick could make it. As medieval as any vampire stories written by uninformed humans two hundred years ago. 

He reached out a shaking hand and shoved the Devoted from his side. "Leave me alone." 

She fell back with a muted sound of surprise, but stood without a pause and grabbed the rag and bowl of water from the floor. 

Sebastien moved in as she scurried off. "What is it?" 

"What is it?" Merrick stood up. His face was hot. He hadn't felt pain in the human sense in a long time, but there was an ache where that beast bit him. A numbness. "What do you think it is?" 

"Calm down." 

"I will not!" Merrick pushed past him to pace the floor. "It was about Nicky before today. Now? This is a fight. This is my fight with that wolf, and I won't calm down until it's been put down like the rabid dog it is!" 

Sebastien was staring at him when he turned. Merrick dismissed the look on his face, annoyed that Sebastien didn't understand and instantly leap in with his support. 

"You didn't feed." 

Merrick frowned. "Feed? That idiot girl? She was too scared to do more than paw at my injuries anyway, and when exactly did this worthless pack of Devoted turn into cowards?" 

"I think about the same time that you started going insane." 

Merrick fired a glare at his brother. "I don't appreciate humor right now," he said, though Sebastien wasn't smiling at all. "Nicky would have known how to tend to--" 

"Merrick. You lost blood. You need to feed before you get yourself so worked up you collapse." 

"I am not addled or light-headed or whatever you're trying to say I am." 

Sebastien shook his head. "You're raving." 

"I'm angry!" Merrick paced. "Angry people rave. I had a werewolf's _teeth_ in my _neck_." And he wheeled, because that reminded him: "Just where the hell were you for that, anyway?" 

Sebastien frowned. 

"You took your time getting that thing off me. You think I didn't notice you having some staring contest with that _human_?" 

Sebastien's head dipped, a sure sign he felt guilty. "I…was watching her to make sure they didn't gang up on you." 

It was a ridiculously sloppy lie for Sebastien, and Merrick gave it the contempt it deserved. "Give me a break." 

“If I had jumped in you would have been just as furious. You would have said I didn't think you could take care of yourself." 

Merrick touched the numb spot on his neck, glaring at his brother. "You let this happen." 

Instead of answering, Sebastien looked back through the doorway. "I think Meta's home. Would you like to tell her, or should I?" 

"Tell her what?" 

"About the wolf. We have to--" 

"No!" 

Sebastien turned back to Merrick. 

Merrick moved in. "No. That wolf is mine. He made this personal, and I'm keeping it that way. Meta doesn't have to know." 

Sebastien's eyebrows shot upward. His voice was slow, as if he was tasting each word as it came out. "Meta doesn't have to know." 

Merrick's thoughts were rapid-fire, burning hot, but they seemed to calm at the look on Sebastien's face. 

_Too far_ , his mind said. 

He blew out a breath, trying to look surprised at himself. "I didn't mean that. Of course she should know." 

Sebastien nodded slowly, blue eyes digging into Merrick. 

Merrick waved a hand, dismissing the whole thing. "I'm a little furious right now, don't mind me. You talk to her. I think I am feeling light-headed." 

Predictably, Sebastien's expression changed, softened. "Sit down, take it easy. I'll talk to Meta and find you a Devoted." 

Merrick simmered, but he turned obediently and went to his bed. "Don't worry her about me." 

Sebastien didn't answer. Slow footsteps took him away and up the stairs. 

Merrick sat on the edge of the bed, his fingernails digging into the sheets. Nicky, then the wolf. He thought the words repeatedly. A plan. A mantra. 

First Nicky. Then the wolf. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we find out more of Meta's plans, and Sebastien and Nicky have a conversation.

It was an understatement to say that Joe wasn't crazy about mirrors. He didn't need them. He could tell what he looked like from the reactions around him. He had been a cute kid once, so Leon said, but inside he had always felt hard and worn, and these days that showed on the surface. No amount of dressing it up would change that. 

Wolves didn't regard appearance as being as important as blood. They had their prejudices, of course, but they tended to be about blood rather than race or ethnicity. The hierarchy of born wolves over changed wolves, and the hierarchy of pack wolves over packless.

But then, Joe had been raised as a human, with humans. To a Black family, as a brown boy, in a mostly white city. Leon used to say that, for humans, the most popular prejudices were the ones that were visible, because they were easy and humans were a lazy race. It didn't require any thought to hate werewolves, because they were Different and they broadcast that difference with vivid yellow eyes. Easy to spot, easy to hate. But before wolves ever came to the attention of humans – and afterward, because hate didn't like to leave once it had a toehold somewhere – it was just as easy to hate other humans, ones with black and brown skin. Easy to label them as Different and act accordingly. 

Andy and some of the other wolves sometimes told Joe to appreciate how good he had it, not being subjected to human prejudices towards werewolves. But every wolf that said that was white. Otherwise they would have known better. 

Mirrors were just reminders of all that. His hardness, the brown eyes that kept other wolves from trusting him, the brown skin and curly black hair that had shaped his life in the human world. He wasn’t ashamed of who he was, not of a single part of it. Still, he couldn’t look at himself without seeing the fight that came from every aspect of his identity. 

Leon raised him and Nile to be proud of who they were. But Joe had never come to like the sight of his own reflection. 

So it was strange for him to be standing in Leon's bathroom, dripping in his towel, squinting through the steam on the mirror and curious about the image waiting there. 

He reached out and wiped a swath into the fog, clearing a broad stripe. And he looked. 

In the bright overhead light of the bathroom, the red in his eyes was obvious. The speckles of color had spread, giving that eerie vampire tint. Otherwise he couldn't see much difference. His skin seemed oddly flat in color, but he was the same shade of brown he had always been. His hair and beard were still wild curls, long and unkempt. 

He smirked to himself, and watched the twist of his lips in the mirror. 

Werewolves aged like humans. Vampires aged microscopically slowly. Where was he going to fall between them? How long was he going to be stuck with this tired face, without the mask of age to hide behind? 

There were deep shadows around his eyes, a thin press to his mouth, deeper when he frowned. He was more broad and solid than he used to be, thanks to Leon and Nile’s cooking. But a diet of blood wouldn't exactly keep the pounds on, so if that was how he had to live from then on, he'd go back to looking like a worn junkie, and he’d stay that way for the rest of his possibly long life. 

He drew in a breath, shoulders squaring, and finally drew his lips back and looked at his teeth. 

He knew the fangs were there – his tongue and lip kept getting jabbed by the damn things - but seeing them was another thing entirely. They looked smaller than they felt, simple points extending the length of his canines by fractions. Sharp, dangerous, but there. Part of him now. 

He shut his mouth and turned away from his reflection, ignoring the churn of his stomach. No point looking at anything else. He didn't need a mirror to look at his scars, even if he wanted to. The places chains had rubbed him raw on the full moons. The places on the insides of his arms where he had done his best to destroy himself. He hated even catching glimpses of them. Now they might be frozen for centuries on his skin. 

As he dried himself off there was a knock on the bathroom door. 

"You have a visitor." Somehow, despite the night they'd had, Nile sounded amused. 

“A what?” It was still dark out, too early for it to be one of his wolves. "Just get rid of them." 

He ran fingers carefully through his hair, loosening the tighter curls that were already drying into place. He’d had a vain phase once, as a teenager wanting to feel good about _something_. But those days were passed. 

“You know, on second examination,” Nile said through the door cheerfully, “he really _is_ attractive as hell.” 

Joe frowned, until he remembered their conversation before they found the fangs. 

“Nicky again? Are you kidding me?” Anger made him yank the door open with more force than he meant to. "Tell him to fuck off." 

"Too late. He's waiting in your room." 

"What?" 

“I let him up.” She shrugged. "He might be good for you." 

“ _What?_ ” Joe gaped but caught himself after a moment, shutting his mouth before her eyes could catch on those fangs. 

There was nowhere to run, and his clothes were in his old bedroom. He glowered down at himself, at the towel wrapped around him. "You're a bitch, Nile." 

She nodded, looking nothing but pleased. "Sometimes. Run along." 

The anger carried him down the hall, and he clenched it as tightly as he clenched the towel, needing to hold on to it. 

He didn't open the door so much as blast it into the room. 

Nicky was moving, pacing the narrow path of available space in the small bedroom. He wheeled around when Joe burst in, smiling instantly. "Joe!" 

Joe didn’t look into those unusual blue eyes. He didn’t take in that smile. "Get out." 

"Are you alright? Your sister said something happened." Nicky searched him, eyes going to the scars on his throat before sweeping downward. His cheeks lit pink when he saw Joe was just in a towel, but he didn't bother to look away. 

Joe pointed back behind him out the door. "Get out. Now." 

"I just wanted to--" 

"Out!" 

Nicky flinched, his eyes wide. 

Joe swallowed. “Just. Please.” 

Nicky nodded. He moved, slow and without his usual ease, as if fighting it every step of the way. He reached the door, and Joe, and there he paused. 

"Just go." Joe spoke fast, before he could say anything else. 

"Do they hurt?" 

Joe blinked. 

Nicky reached out, as usual ignoring the expression Joe had used to scare many a grown man before. His fingers extended, reaching out but stopping before there was any actual contact. 

Joe looked down. He swallowed when he saw that Nicky’s fingers were near his arm. His wrist, with its jagged ropes of scars that went inches upward. Bands of roughened skin from full moons spent desperately tied down because he couldn't find a safe place to change. 

As quickly as werewolves healed, those wounds never had. The worst scars always stayed. 

He drew away, laying his hand over the ugly trail of marks inside his elbow. "No," he said, his voice hoarse, unsure why he was answering. "Not really." 

Nicky looked up, meeting his eyes. "But it aches to remember the causes. Right?" 

Joe frowned. 

Nicky pulled at the edge of his open-collared shirt, revealing the marks of a Devoted. The same size and shape as the newest of Joe's scars, but darker from being closed and reopened for years. 

His cheeks were stained pink. "For me, they should be good memories, I think. There's not a lot unpleasant about where I was. But all I can think about when I feel that ache is that I lived all those years as… not me." 

Joe moved further into the room, past Nicky, leaving the door open behind him. He dropped on the bed, eyes lingering on the things Leon had never taken away. The old books, the toys. Paper, everywhere, covering every surface. 

He didn't come into that room often. He hadn't slept there for years. It was trapped in the past. 

He reached out, arm throbbing, and picked up a dusty framed photo. His brave adoptive mother, Francine Freeman. Francine and her brilliant shadowless smile. Joe had a hard time remembering her. He was ten when she died, and he couldn’t remember how it had felt to be happy before then. It was a blessing, maybe, that all he had now were pictures where she was always smiling. 

"Are you alright?" Nicky's voice was soft enough that Joe wasn't instantly stirred to anger. 

He shrugged, eyes on Francine’s glowing face. "There's nothing wrong with me that anyone can fix, so what difference does it make?" 

There was no answer. 

Joe put the picture down, picking up a small yellowed sketch sitting beside it. A frog. He smirked at it: Leon should have thrown those stupid things out years ago. 

There was something annoyingly weak in his voice as he spoke. "How is it fair to end up completely ruined without ever getting to make a single choice for yourself?" 

Nicky looked at him, uncertain. He moved in, every step cautious, as if waiting for Joe to order him to leave again. "Are you asking for me or for you?" 

Being a Devoted was an ideal for humans, not a ruin. But Joe hesitated, not instantly mocking him for making the comparison. 

"How old were you?" he asked instead. 

"When I became Devoted? Sixteen. The law doesn't allow anything younger.” 

"That explains a lot." Joe smirked to himself without heat. No wonder Nicky came across so naïve and young. His development had been frozen at sixteen. 

"My father was dead, and my mother…" Nicky smiled. "She's still a Devoted. She's the oldest they have. I haven't seen her since I left." 

Joe looked up, taking in the innocent sadness on his face. Nicky couldn't hide an emotion if his life depended on it, apparently, and openness like that was unnerving. Like looking at an unbandaged wound. 

"When my father died he didn't leave us much, and mother…she got scared. She wasn't a very self-reliant kind of person, I don’t think. She was invited in when I was...twelve, maybe. Just before Meta sailed her tribe to America. There are other Devoted with children, Meta was always happy to take care of them. So. I went with her, and the day I turned sixteen they wanted me too. Merrick. He wanted me." 

A naïve kid, maybe, but one that never had much chance to be more. Joe could allow him a little leeway for that. 

“Anyway. That was a long time ago. It's been almost a year. Since I left.” Nicky kept going slowly, sounding almost surprised that he was being allowed to talk so long. 

That surprise almost made Joe smile. 

“Most everything I knew from school got taken by the venom, and…I'm too old to start over. They say in time the haze from venom goes away. The Devoted who get retired, eventually they can take care of themselves. I might remember more someday. But, even so...” He smiled, something wry in the look. “I don't _feel_ like I'm ruined. Not really. Maybe you'll laugh but I'm even proud of myself.” 

Joe didn't laugh. 

It was almost galling, but he understood some of that. He remembered well enough what it felt like to be so victorious in recovering from his addictions, pulling himself up from rock bottom, only to realize that the world he had dragged himself back to didn't have a damn thing to offer him. 

He knew what it was like to not understand how to make a life for himself. Joe fell back on his family, who let him do it, and then stumbled into work helping illegal werewolves. Without those things, he doubted he'd have done as well as Nicky. 

Nicky moved in, looking at the picture Joe set down. "So... what about you?" 

He nodded at the second photo, his eyes on Francine. "She died. I found out some things. I got angry and ran off. Did a lot of stupid things trying to forget. Not much to say." 

Nicky picked up the little sketch next. "Did you do this?" 

"When I was a kid." He nodded around the room: the walls were crammed with sketches, drawings, paintings. Just part of the wallpaper now: Joe hadn’t paid them any attention in years. "It was Leon who got me started. To...channel my energy, or something. He always pushed me, when I got angry. He said to capture the things about the world that I loved, and I’d never be able to really hate the world." He smirked. 

It had worked. For a long time, he had twisted his frustration and anger into art. 

“You did all of these?” Nicky left his side and wandered to the wall. 

Joe looked from the pictures to Nicky’s back. His smirk faded. 

He wasn’t used to this. This was a new person, and he met new people all the time. But a new person stepping inside Joe’s own life, that was different. That was something Joe didn’t allow. 

He wanted to be able to say that from behind Nicky wasn’t anything remarkable to look at, but he wasn’t _that_ good at self-deception. Nicky’s hair was tousled and brown and normal enough, but those broad shoulders, the taper down to a slender waist, the strong back, the curve of his ass. His broad thighs in those tight jeans. 

God damn it. 

It didn’t mean anything. So Nicky was pretty. So what? There was no reason for him to affect Joe in any way. There was no reason for his words over the phone to still haunt Joe’s mind, ludicrous as they were. Nicky wasn’t in _love._ Joe was barely tolerable to his own self. 

But Nicky’s eyes were damaged and kind, and Joe wished. He hated himself for wishing. 

“I can tell,” Nicky said suddenly, his voice low, accent musical. He looked back at Joe, and the moment those eyes were on Joe it was like a physical touch. “I can tell that you love these things that you draw.” 

Joe forced himself to roll his eyes and look away. “Maybe, when I was a kid and still capable of it.” 

“None of these are recent?” 

“No. I don’t draw anymore.” Joe got to his feet. 

Nicky looked back at him. 

“Listen. There's not some sweet little boy inside me waiting to get fixed, or whatever the hell you think might be going on. Whatever keeps bringing you around, you’re not going to find it here." 

Nicky smiled, small and sad. "I know what you are. I like you as you are now. I don't want to fix anyone, and I don't want to be fixed." 

Joe met his gaze, those startling blue eyes, earnest and sincere in a way that made Joe feel more nervous than the words did. He looked away after a moment, uncomfortable but not enough to laugh or get angry, or dismiss him entirely. 

After a moment, he moved past Nicky to the dirty, blood-speckled clothes crumbled on the other side of the small mattress. “Look, Nicky. You need to--” 

“I will.” Nicky answered so fast that Joe assumed he miss-guessed what he was going to say. But he turned and moved to the door without argument. “I won’t come back without an invitation.” 

Joe felt a nervous twist in his gut. He reached for his shirt, mouth opening to answer, or argue, even though that had been exactly what he’d been building up to. 

Nicky couldn’t be part of his life. Nothing about a sad backstory and a nice smile changed that. 

“Take care of yourself,” Nicky said to his back. 

Joe hesitated, but answered quietly as Nicky moved through the door. “You too.” 

* * *

One half-drunk dare to impress some girl whose name she didn't even remember, a girl she wasn't even interested in. One full moon night sneaking around on Whidbey Island, and there was no one to blame but herself for the way all her possibilities suddenly vanished. 

Andy went from having unlimited options for her future to a government-assigned job, assigned housing on the island, friends who cried when they left her in the hospital like she was dead under a blanket, and family who afterward wrote her letters. Letters, for fuck's sake, like they were a world apart and not across a damn bridge. 

She tried really, really hard not to get bitter. She'd always been a together, with-it kind of chick. She always took her punches and rolled with them. She studied a hundred different religions as a kid, formed a solid idea of how her world and the powers that might control that world worked. She constructed her own beliefs and wouldn’t let anyone talk her out of them. 

She was determined not to let one run-in with a werewolf and one suddenly-very-different night a month screw up everything she had figured out. 

But if it wasn't for Joe, she wasn't sure how long she might have been able to maintain that. 

It was one thing to accept that she suddenly had a different place in the universe than she used to. It was another thing to accept the slow, inescapable certainty that it didn't have to be such a different place. That the only things in her life that were different were the very modern, very human laws she was subject to. 

Her eyes had been yellow from the moment she woke up in the hospital after that bite. Her senses were sharper, though it took a while for those to grow to what they were now. But in no other real, meaningful way did she change. One night a month, sure. Not enough to matter. 

All her limitations, all the wolves' limitations, were bullshit. They were hemmed in from all sides because of laws with no basis in reality. Living on Whidbey, keeping a curfew every damned night, paying the government taxes and fees, throwing the money they worked their asses off to earn back at the people who paid them, all for the privilege of being allowed to exist... 

No one was zen enough to not get worn down by that. The Dalai fucking Lama couldn't have handled that after a while. 

But it was okay, because Andy had plans. She always had plans. They wouldn't let her go to the universities that used to throw offers at her, they wouldn't let her become something bigger than she was. But she had ideas all the same. She had allies. 

She had an island full of pissed-off wolves who were starting to listen to her broadcasts, starting to respond. All they needed was a little time to get together, to get things organized. 

And that was the one fucking thing the government was stopping them from having. 

“We've got a big problem,” she said the moment the door behind the bar opened. 

Joe stopped halfway through the doorway, looking from Andy to Lykon in surprise. He came out slowly, moving around the bar and shooing them all to sit around a table in the back. 

Andy followed quickly. There were a couple of humans drinking and talking in the bar, and as wolf-friendly as they were to come to Freeman’s at all, they still didn’t need to hear what Andy came to say. 

“What the hell are you doing here? Sunrise was less than an hour ago. Don't you have work?” 

Andy reached into her pocket and pulled out a card. She slapped it on the table and looked at Joe, mostly to keep from looking at _it_. She was pissed off enough as it was. 

Joe stared at her but reached out and plucked the card off the table. He squinted down at it. 

There wasn't much to see. Cheap laminated piece of paper, with Andy’s name and her brand new five-digit number underneath. And at the top, the familiar logo: Seattle Werewolf Services. 

Joe looked up. “What is this?” 

“We're getting stopped this morning, me and every fucking Whidbey wolf. They stop us on our way over the bridge, take our names, and give us these.” 

Joe's face was already twisting: he got it, Andy could see that, but he fingered the card and didn't speak. 

“Three guesses what we're going to have to show on our way back across the bridge the next two nights.” 

Joe was already ahead, already seeing the giant fucking problem that was about to land on them. Andy had known Joe for a while, and she didn't doubt his ability to see the worst in every situation. 

She went on anyway. “They gave some bullshit line about needing extra security during the full moon. I was right about cops coming to Whidbey, but apparently they're not going further than the bridge." 

“You sure they're going to check?” 

“Yeah, we are.” Lykon spoke up, nerves jangling in his voice. “I wanted to go over the bridge this morning, to meet some wolves from my pack before work. I had to lie to men in police uniforms who asked me for some card. I didn't know what they were talking about, but I gave them some story about just being in town to visit family.” 

“They didn't let you cross, though.” Joe wasn't asking. 

Lykon shook his head in confirmation. “No card, no name on their lists, no getting on the island.” 

“Fuck.” Joe looked at the card, then slammed it down on the table twice as hard as Andy first did. He stood up, his hands fists, his body wired tight. “Fuck!” 

All eyes in the bar went to their little table, but Joe's temper wasn't a new sight and most people looked away before he could catch them gawking. 

Andy stood up, moving in, leaving Lykon behind. “We're fucked, Joe.” 

“ _Damn_ it.” Joe paced away from her, scowling. 

Andy watched him. “Every wolf you have stashed in this city goes over the bridge for the full moon. There's nowhere they can change in the city. There's nowhere safe.” 

“Keep your voice down!” Joe wheeled and glowered at her. “Especially if you're just going to tell me shit I already know.” 

Andy was used to Joe's temper as much as any regular at that bar, but it didn't keep her own temper from flaring up. “I broadcast tonight, and every wolf in this city will know in the next hour what’s happening. We need to tell them something.” 

“The full moon is tomorrow night, Andy.” 

“And that would qualify as shit _I_ already know.” 

Joe glared at her, fierce. “Get out.” 

Andy's eyebrows shot up. “We have to focus here. We have to come up with—” 

“Get out. Both of you.” Joe marched past her. “If they’re paying attention to wolf movements then you need to get to work. And you.” He shot Lykon a dark look. “You stay away from the damn island.” 

Lykon had relaxed in the few weeks he had been in Seattle. He would have flinched back from Joe’s words at the beginning, when everything seemed to make him jump. Now he just nodded, sharp. 

Andy could feel her already foul mood worsening, but she knew Joe was right. “It’s bullshit, this whole thing. It’s Meta. The whole thing reeks of Meta. She isn't fighting us one by one anymore, making wolves vanish off the streets however she's been doing it. She's using the humans, and the laws, and she's coming after all of us.” 

Joe turned back to her. “If everybody coming off the island is gonna get one of these, they're going to want to hear that someone's got a plan. Get on that broadcast tonight and tell them some damned thing. I'll call you when I can.” 

“And is someone going to have a plan?” Andy asked, soft, meeting his gaze seriously. 

Joe only frowned. His mind was already a light year ahead, no doubt, planning, but it wasn't confidence or distraction that kept him silent. Andy knew him too well to think that. 

The silence was an answer in itself. 

* * *

“If you want my opinion you would give this up before the council formally convenes. What you ask is dangerous and irresponsible, and it will never be granted.” 

Meta sat back at her desk, unsurprised. She held the phone away from her mouth so it wouldn't pick up her small, contained sigh. 

“It isn't enough that they know about us. It isn't enough that most vampires in your country are removed - removed, Meta, entirely, like a limb you've chopped away - from our history and customs. Now you want to make matters worse?" 

She looked up when motion caught her eye. She smiled to see Sebastien, and waved him in. "I would be gaining real power for myself and my tribe. It makes nothing worse. It secures our place here." 

"Secure?" Tina was loud enough to make her wince. 

Sebastien sat at the armchair across from her desk, his expression sympathetic when he realized what language she was speaking. Meta didn't often speak Romanian anymore: only when she was speaking to the council or an Old Worlder. Sebastien knew how little she enjoyed those conversations. 

"Our tribes were secure. Years ago, decades, when we kept to ourselves and no one knew about us! You have taken your tribe beyond security, and now you want permission to make this absurd position official? _Professional_?” 

"Tina..." Meta smiled. Her ability to stay calm in the face of what she considered sheer lunacy was one of the things that led to her ruling a tribe of her own. "I understand your reticence. I understand that most of the leaders around you," decrepit and irrelevant though they were, "never wanted our existence revealed. But that has been done, and years ago. I wasn't part of that movement. It was never my decision. But things are how they are. There is no returning to the shadows. Not for us." 

"And if there was a way, you wouldn't begin to consider it." 

Meta smiled. "That's true. We are happy as we are now. But our position with humans is…ceremonial at best. They give us everything we want, but they could take it away again easily." 

"Maybe it would be for the best that they do." 

Her smile vanished. "No." 

Sebastien sat up, brow furrowed. 

"There will be no going backwards for us. The past is dead. We will go on, and we will strengthen our hold in America. I will see to it that we gain real authority. We will rule ourselves, Tina. We won't be ruled by human law, nor…" She hesitated, knowing she was on slippery ground. "Nor will we be held back by outdated council laws that have no basis on the world as it is." 

Tina didn't answer for a moment. "That is dangerous talk." 

"Maybe." Meta could feel tension slipping into her shoulders. She consciously relaxed again. "But life for us here has become so different from the old world that for you to advise us is absurd. Dangerous." 

"Meta, I'm warning you--" 

"No. Don't warn." She drew a breath. She looked to Sebastien, to the devotion in her child's vibrant eyes. She spoke with strength: "There are complications here, levels that you cannot begin to appreciate. You don't know the human world, and we now live in that world. If the council chooses to deny my request outright, I will abide. I am no outlaw. But you _must_ deny it. This skirting around the issue and giving suggestion in place of decision must stop." 

Tina fell silent again. There was the muffled sound of murmurs behind her. 

Meta sat back. 

The stir had been made, she only had to time things from here. She sent Sebastien a smile, rewarded when her child relaxed and lost a little of the furrow carving into his brow. 

She was ready the moment Tina began to speak. 

"We--" 

"Tina, since it seems you have a few of the Grandfathers there with you, another matter has come to my attention, and it's much more your domain than mine. I am in need of your advice." 

Meta could have counted the beats of the pause, and directed the hesitant answer. 

"Very well." 

"There is a werewolf in my city." She had planned this carefully. The Old Worlders were relics, superstitious. They grasped the old mythology like shipwrecked sailors might cling to floating debris. "A few of my tribe have reported seeing him. He is unlike any other I have ever seen." 

Tina answered more quickly, her voice odd. "Go on." 

"He seems by all appearances to be a human. His eyes are not wolf eyes. He acts in open defiance of vampires, though most wolves in my city are cowed beyond rebellion." 

"Are you sure of this?" 

Meta smiled. "Very. My most trusted children bring me these reports." She nodded at Sebastien, who was beginning to smile as he listened. 

"You should have told us the moment you heard." Tina spoke quickly, urgent, and her anger at Meta's earlier defiance was nowhere to be found. 

Just as she’d planned. 

"There are people I must speak to. Stay by your phone day and night, Meta. When I call you back I expect you to answer." 

A click, and she was gone. Off to huddle in the shadows of mausoleums and mutter old tales back and forth with vampires even older and more stilted than she was. 

And not one of them would think to formally deny Meta's earlier request. Not when they suddenly had bigger issues. 

She hung up the phone and sat back, smiling to herself. Perfect, really. 

“You didn't tell them everything,” Sebastien pointed out after a moment. 

Meta waved her hand. “I need this wolf for the influence he'll have over those superstitious old idiots. Whatever is happening with him, whatever change Merrick's bite caused...I'll figure it out. But those antique ministers in Europe don't need to know the details.” 

“The wolf might have a stronger effect on them if they know those details,” Sebastien said in return. He had always been sharp and never afraid to voice his feelings; one reason why he was as high in her standing as he was. “He certainly scares Merrick more now than he did when he was simply a wolf.” 

“True.” She flashed a faint smile. “Though if you'll keep that observation from reaching Merrick, we'll all be happier.” 

Sebastien smiled. “That occurred to me, yes.” He regarded her. “You have all of this planned in your mind. How will they react when they call back?” 

Meta sat back in her chair. “They'll ask a stream of questions that are entirely irrelevant. They’ll demand constant updates about what we're doing to stop this wolf. But they won't come. They won't interfere. They'll wait and see how it plays out: if the wolf somehow wins, it solves their problem about what to do about me and these revolutionary ideas that they hate so much. If I destroy the wolf, they'll know he isn't some figure from legend. Either way, it will keep them at a distance, watching and waiting. Which is just where I want them to be.” 

Sebastien studied her. He was slow in speaking next. “When you first asked me to find this wolf...” 

“The Primul Născut are obsolete, but still powerful. What I asked you for is help in keeping them from interfering in the plans I have for my family. It is important.” 

He regarded her, calm as he always was, but there was something in his eyes that Meta couldn’t read. Sebastien had always had the rare and annoying ability to be inscrutable, even to his Mother. 

“I thought at the time that you were worried about those legends yourself,” he said after a moment, as if amused by the idea. 

Meta raised her eyebrows. “When have I ever feared stories?” 

“I believed it was defense of the tribe,” he went on. “Defense from destruction, at least, not merely defense from the decisions of the Primul Născut.” 

There was something in his words that made her lose every trace of amusement. 

Because Sebastien had always been unreadable, because he always spoke of fact above his own preferences or feelings, he always managed to come across as disapproving even as he craved to do his Mother's will. 

This felt different. 

She spoke carefully. “You remember the tenuous and paranoid life vampires lived when you were first changed.” 

He nodded. 

“You remember the way of life in Europe when we visited a century ago ago. The life they seek to return us to. Living in dark holes, hiding what we are. Terrified of humans though we are evolved beyond them. Tina would have us crawling in shadows and gnawing on rats for blood if she were allowed. I will have us ruling this city, and when vampires rule one place it is only a matter of time before we rule everywhere.” 

He watched, listened, assessed, as he always did. And then he simply said, “What if this wolf is the subject of old legends after all?” 

“Maybe he is.” Meta flashed a dark smile, her eyes steady on Sebastien. “My contempt for those old legends has nothing to do with whether they might be true or not. It simply doesn't matter. If I can use him, I will. If I can't, he will be dealt with.” 

* * *

“Shit, it's nothing personal. I just don't have that kinda space here. I got too many nosey ass humans living here, no way they won't notice a bunch of wolves.” 

“Yeah, Tom, I hear you.” Joe forced himself to answer, though he mostly wanted to slam the phone down and dial the next number. Couldn't afford to burn his bridges, and Tom was always good for finding housing for his new arrivals. 

“Sorry, man.” Tom hung up, sparing him any further useless small talk. 

Joe scratched his name off the list with a violent stroke of pen and dialed the next number. The day kept creeping forward, and he was going to lose half his list when the contacts who worked days went to bed. He couldn't lose time. Couldn't miss a single chance to-- 

“Cyrus.” 

“Freddy, hey. It's Joe.” 

“Oh, shit.” 

He forced himself to chuckle. “I'll take that as a compliment. Hey, I got a situation here, was hoping you could help out.” 

“Why don't I like the sound of this?” 

“It's important, Freddy. I'd owe you. Big.” 

“Joe?” 

He looked over, annoyed, waving Leon away as he came down into the dusty basement storeroom where Joe had been hunched for the last couple of hours. 

“Go ahead. Asking's free,” Cyrus said in his ear. 

Leon didn't leave, of course, he just kept coming. He had a cup of coffee in his hand and that guilt-inspiring troubled look on his face that he was so good at. 

Joe turned away from him, talked into the phone. “I need a place overnight. Tomorrow night. I need somewhere quiet, somewhere no one's going to come near.” 

“Tomorrow night. The full fucking moon. Jesus.” 

“I know, I know.” He batted his hand behind him when Leon's hand fell on his shoulder. “You think I want to have to owe a shithead like you something this big?” 

As he hoped, Cyrus chuckled in his ear. The guy was an older, salt of the earth kinda guy, and mostly a dick, but he had none of the hang-ups about wolves most old-timers did. He seemed to like Joe, which was rare even among Joe’s lists of contacts. 

“Desperate times, huh? Look, the apartments aren't gonna work. They sure as hell aren't quiet.” 

“Shit. Yeah, guess not.” He slumped. The cup of coffee Leon carried down slid into view. He grabbed it without looking up, taking a sip. “Okay. Thanks, man, you let me--” 

“You know...huh.” 

Joe straightened. “What?” 

“Shit, but hell if I know why I'm helping you, I still think one of your wolves ate my fucking Siamese.” 

“Freddy, come on.” 

“Yeah, yeah. The place on 14th. The warehouse for the old mail room...” 

Joe froze, holding his breath. “Uh huh.” 

“Far as I know the buildings around it are empty. I sure as hell haven't had any luck selling the place since the company went bust. I got the keys around here somewhere. There's cops around there patrolling sometimes, you know, but...” 

“Jesus Christ, Fred.” Hope made his hand shake around the coffee cup. He had been to that warehouse once or twice, showing around a couple of the guys Cyrus had hired off him. It was big, it was desolate, it wasn’t the kind of place anyone would innocently wander too close to. 

“Tell you what, I'll bring the keys up to the bar if you tell your pop he owes me a couple of cold ones.” 

“Forget a couple of cold ones – you want the bar? I'll make it happen.” 

Cyrus chortled. “I put Nile out of work she’ll never forgive me, and I can’t handle those eyes. See you in an hour or two.” 

Joe hung up and dialed again instantly. 

“Joe. You need to eat some--” 

He ignored Leon, clamping his hand over his ear so he could hear the moment the call was answered. 

“Yeah? Joe?” 

“Got one more place, and it's a good one. Space for...twenty, twenty-five maybe.” 

“That's great.” Andy didn't sound all that impressed. 

Joe's brief flare-up of relief faded. “What?” 

“I've got another dozen since your last call. And they're still calling. The list keeps getting longer.” 

He slumped. “ _Fuck_ me. Okay, I'm working on it. Just...damn it.” 

“Yeah, I know. Just keep working.” 

He hung up in answer, looking for the next name on the list. 

“Joe.” 

“Leon, I don't have time to--” 

A hand came out, pushed in the receiver to cut off the call as he started dialing. 

Joe drew in a breath, finger still poised to dial. “I'm _busy_.” 

“Then let me help. You need to take a break, get something to ea--” 

He didn't look up at Leon. He couldn't. “I don't need help.” 

“You are so stubborn.” Leon motioned at the list. “Is that all you can do? Find hiding places inside the city?” 

“Places away from humans where they hopefully won’t be heard, because if they get heard then they'll get arrested. If they get heard, then nosy humans will show up and get hurt.” 

"It’s loud,” Leon said. “The change.” 

“I’m aware of--” 

“You used to cry,” he went on, looking at Joe. “For hours, when you were a kid. You used to beg me to make it not happen. To take it away even just for a month. And I would have, you know. If there was any way at all, I would have done it.” 

Joe swallowed, staring down at the desk. 

“Is there a way to get them out of the city for the night?” Leon asked. “Get a bus out of town? Washington’s not hurting for forests, you know.” 

His eyes felt hot and dry as he rasped an answer. “Take the bus with what money? My guys don’t have a spare five bucks to throw around as it is, and missing a day of work to leave the city and go god knows where? These guys work sick, they work the morning after the moon, they work with broken bones and pneumonia. They aren’t gonna take off for this.” 

“At the risk of being caught and arrested?” 

“That’s their whole lives. Live with the fear long enough you get numb to it.” 

“Maybe there’s someone who can--” 

Joe jerked back in his chair, glowering up at Leon. “There’s nothing, okay? We don’t have the time to find any better solutions. I get that you want to help. But there's nothing you can do. None of the guys on this list will talk to anyone but me about breaking these kinds of laws. I have to call in every favor I owe, and _I'm_ the only one who can do that.” 

Leon looked right at Joe for a few long seconds. Then he turned and moved back to the stairs. 

Joe fought back the urge to yell after him, to rage the way he wanted to. It was only a matter of hours before darkness fell again, and apparently when he wasn't paying attention, he'd managed to stash a few dozen more wolves around the city than he'd realized. Every one of them was stuck, and Joe put them in the very corners they were backed into. 

Leon didn't get that. 

He turned back to his list and the phone, ignoring the twist of guilt inside of him. The tattered remains of a conscience that really ought to have rotted into nothing by then. 

When he realized about a half hour and a few more dead ends later that someone had managed to put a fresh cup of coffee and a plate with a couple of sandwiches by his elbow without him even noticing, the twist of guilt became a pretty solid stab. 

But he didn't focus on it. He kept making calls. 

* * *

Sebastien wasn't sure whether to believe it when he heard a couple of Devoted talking about Morena's visitor, but as he approached the doorless entry of the woman's home there was no mistaking the soft voice he heard. 

“I can't stop thinking about...all of them. Especially him. It's so...strange, for me. But...I don’t know, mamma.” 

Sebastien stood in the doorway, containing a groan when he peered in. Right there, underground, in the heart of their home. 

Merrick had been sleeping when Sebastien left their home to walk. He'd been hoping to find some time and silence, to still his troubled thoughts. Now Sebastien was forced to use the time to consider a new dilemma. 

Nicky. 

Morena was practically unconscious, slouched in her overly-cushioned armchair while her son bustled around in her small kitchen. Focusing on his task – it looked like he was making coffee, or tea - Nicky seemed happy and troubled all at once. 

He spoke, and it seemed doubtful that his mother could focus on the words if she was even awake enough to even hear them. 

“I don’t think he even likes me all that much, but. 'È meraviglioso." Nicky laughed to himself. “Sono confuso, mamma. Non so che cosa fare." 

Morena didn't move. 

Sebastien's Italian wasn’t strong, but this was obviously nothing but Nicky telling his mother about some guy he’d met. Nothing that interested Sebastien. 

…until he stopped to think which guy Nicky might have been speaking about. 

“Anyway, I love him. At least I think I do.” He hadn't seen Sebastien, focusing on his task as he moved in the tiny kitchen space. “You used to say you knew, with dad, right at the start. I wish you'd told me _how_ you knew.” 

Sebastien didn't have to look at Morena's veiled lids to know that someone like her, obviously having been fed from recently and with the years she had underground, was far beyond being able to answer anything so complex. 

Sebastien looked behind him at the dark path leading back towards his home, towards Merrick. He was uncertain, which wasn't a feeling that he particularly enjoyed. 

“I miss you. All of you. It's hard being alone up there. I wish you would...” Nicky trailed off, his movements slowing. 

“Nicolò.” Morena's voice was low, heavy. “Nicky, you're here?” 

Nicky moved in instantly, his eyes far too bright. “I'm here, mammi.” 

Morena sighed, tilting her head back as Nicky approached. That same reflexive regal quality she had adopted with Merrick, but in Sebastien's eyes there was something...sensual, in it. Something disconcerting in the company of her son. 

“Nicky...I have to tell you, the next time you call...” She slipped her eyes open and looked right at Sebastien, though her eyes never focused and she only smiled more broadly. “Merrick. He asked me about you. Meta's own son, asking for my little boy.” 

Nicky stilled. He backed up from the chair, tense just like that. “I...I have to go, mammi.” 

“Next time you call, I'll tell you that.” 

“Yes, okay.” Nicky hesitated, looking at his mother lying near-asleep. He looked around the small room, perhaps for a blanket of some kind. 

He saw Sebastien, of course. 

He was surprisingly calm, though his throat worked as their eyes locked across the room. Nicky drew back close to Morena. He leaned in and whispered something to his mother. Her eyes didn't open and her smile didn't change, and really. Nicky must have known it was pointless. 

It was another reason why they didn't tend to keep their Devoted underground for many years at a time. The effects of the venom seemed to be cumulative. After a while the Devoted were more useless than they were worth. 

Sebastien watched Nicky move around the small room, and wondered about him, for not the first time. 

When he first arrived, he was far too young. Meta liked the mother and so they had to care for the son. Sebastien had avoided him like he avoided any of the rare children who found their way underground. 

But Nicky found Sebastien. 

He was this bright-eyed boy with a head brimming with questions, and before long Sebastien grew fond of him. Nicky reminded him very much of himself, though Sebastien had never been overly excited by the things he learned. He simply enjoyed knowledge. Nicky seemed to savor it, to be truly fascinated by everything. At first his main love had been religious debate, but as he left behind a childhood that had pushed him towards devotion, his focus shifted.

There had always been a chance that he would simply leave when he was old enough, go aboveground to college, to seminary as he used to talk about. Really make something of himself. 

But Merrick's eyes caught on him, and that was all it took. 

It was a trial dealing with Merrick in the days up until Nicky's sixteenth birthday, when he could finally become a true Devoted. Merrick, of course, insisted on being the first pair of fangs he felt. 

Sebastien used to think it was the novelty of Nicky, that Merrick simply wanted something he didn't often get – an innocent. 

But Merrick's interest in the boy didn't fade after that. 

He didn't lay a claim on Nicky, of course. None but Meta could claim a Devoted entirely to themselves, and she never did. Still, Merrick monopolized Nicky. Sebastien had seen him rage at other vampires who used Nicky and didn't tend to him properly afterward. It was known and understood that when Merrick wanted Nicky, Merrick would have him. 

It was sexless for the first couple of years. Meta wouldn’t have tolerated anything that skirted the boundaries of human laws. Sebastien wasn’t entirely sure _when_ Merrick stopped being content just feeding from him, but he knew they slept together more nights than not by the time Nicky left. 

All of Nicky’s boundless curiosity and excitability vanished with the venom. It always did. Humans enjoyed it as they enjoyed any release from reality, but it robbed them of what was inside of them. And Nicky was so young when he was first exposed. He was young even now. Still younger than Sebastien had been when he was first turned.

As laughable as it was to think that any normal human would turn down an offer to be a Devoted, it was insane to believe that anyone who was already Devoted would want to leave it behind. 

But Nicky did. 

Sebastien was as astonished as the others when Meta announced the decision. Merrick was beside himself, but Nicky had been smart enough to go directly to Meta with his request, and she was wise enough to see that the fastest way to ruin would be to start holding humans against their will. 

Sebastien wondered how much of that bright-eyed, enthusiastic boy had returned since the venom wore off. He wondered how much that boy had to shout inside Nicky's head to be heard over the venom in the first place. 

Merrick was going to find out that Nicky had been there, and he would be utterly incensed by it. If Sebastien were the brother Merrick wanted him to be, he would have taken Nicky to their home without pause. He would have woken Merrick with a gift, and would have finally been free of the madness that had altered Merrick for so long. 

Nicky stepped up to the door. He faced Sebastien, spine straight but dread in his eyes. 

Sebastien wanted his brother back. The chance to have that stood right in front of him. For a moment Sebastien simply looked at him. 

Nicky swallowed when Sebastien didn't speak. "I have to…you're not allowed to…" He didn't finish. Nicky knew the underground world too well: Sebastien was allowed anything he wanted. 

But Sebastien had never been able to simply take everything he wanted. And he had never been the brother Merrick wanted him to be. 

"You can't come back here." Sebastien studied Nicky, those wide eyes. "It was stupid to come down at all." 

"It’s midday, I thought he'd be asleep." 

"He is. But when he hears that you were here…" Sebastien let out a breath, glancing over his shoulder just in case. 

No sign of Merrick, nor of anyone paying them any attention. But the gossip was out there, and Merrick would hear it. He might even hear that Sebastien saw Nicky and let him leave. 

He turned back to Nicky, his jaw set. "He's bad enough already. You know that. Stay away, and maybe it will get better." 

“I don't understand.” Nicky swallowed, looking past him at the road, the houses around them full of willing, beautiful humans. "Why won't he let me go?" 

"Because you were his and now you're not." Sebastien shrugged. "There's no more to it than that." 

Nicky frowned as though he didn't believe the words. Sebastien didn't believe them either, but they would have to do. If he let himself think that Merrick had sincere feelings for Nicky, his will might weaken. 

"For your sake as well as his, you can’t come down here again. You should change apartments, stop visiting the places he knows you to go. If I thought you would listen, I'd tell you to get out of the city altogether. If you would just disappear…" Frustration tightened Sebastien's words. 

Nicky looked at him for a long moment. The fear had left his face, though if he were smart it wouldn't leave until he was aboveground and under the sun that Merrick hated. 

“Do you remember teaching me when I was a kid?” 

Sebastien hesitated, caught off guard. “I never taught. I only answered what questions I could.” 

Nicky smiled. “I had a lot.” 

Sebastien almost smiled back, because Nicky was right. He had been insatiable. 

It hadn't returned; he saw that now. There was more life in Nicky than there had been months ago, when he was still a Devoted. But nothing like the energy that used to be there. 

“Do you remember those lessons? Sometimes I think of the strangest things. Like...there was a book. Some writer. You would read me...” Nicky searched for words, his brow furrowed. “He wrote that little book you used to carry around. You don’t like modern poetry, but you liked him.” 

Sebastien watched him, knowing that he couldn't honestly be asking for a lesson in poetry right then. 

The vampires around him were jaded, bored by time and dismissive of the past. Reading some of his favorite verses aloud to a wide-eyed human had been...he had enjoyed it. 

He looked back down the path again, feeling the odds of Merrick's waking growing, but he let Nicky talk. 

“I used to think back then...'when I've got my mind back, I'll find it and read it.' Everything I didn't understand, what little of it I could remember, I knew I'd sort it out later. I never...I don't think, anyway, that I ever thought I would stay here long.” 

Sebastien looked back at him. 

Nicky was a burden to Merrick, and so to Sebastien, but he couldn't help but admire what Nicky had done. He left what most humans considered an ideal life because he simply wanted the ability to think. Sebastien was maybe the one vampire in the tribe who understood that choice and approved of it. Silently, at the time, but he approved. 

“And have you?” he asked, his voice gentler than it had been. “Sorted it all out? Did you find that book for yourself?” 

Nicky drew in a breath. He looked away. “I can't remember it. What it's called, who wrote it. I can't remember anything.” His eyes were bright and wet suddenly, as miserable as when he was saying goodbye to his mother. 

Sebastien sighed. Of course things were lost. Given the effects of venom he didn't doubt that there were holes in the minds of the Devoted. But Nicky was young enough that those holes might repair themselves. 

If it were anyone but Nicky, Sebastien would offer his help. He had too many hours to think, too little to keep his mind from stagnating. Talks like the ones he and Nicky used to have together would have done Sebastien good as well. 

But this was Nicky, Merrick's obsession, so Sebastien could do nothing but get rid of him. 

Nicky looked back through the wide opening into the house behind him. When he spoke, the words seemed to scrape against his throat, painful-sounding. 

"I won't come back. My mother...she won't notice either way, will she?” 

No. She wouldn't. But Sebastien couldn't bring himself to say it aloud. It would have been cruel when Nicky obviously knew the truth already. 

He shouldn't be punished. Not for choosing his own future. Merrick's obsession with him was going to ruin Nicky's life if Merrick had anything to say about it. Nicky didn't deserve that for making a strong choice to leave the easiest possible life behind. 

For a moment Nicky stood, looking at his mother's still house. Then he pushed off and moved past Sebastien, feet dragging. 

"Goodbye, Sebastien." 

Sebastien opened his mouth to answer, but what came out was unexpected. "Wait." 

Nicky looked back. 

Sebastien was stuck. 

There was an unformed urge in him, remembering Meta's conversation with the Primul Născut. Remembering their talk afterward. There was something about it, something that Sebastien couldn't deny was troubling him. He wasn't sure what, exactly. And he wasn't sure what to do about it. 

Letting things be, things that he knew weren't right, was something he was forced to do with Merrick often enough. Sebastien indulged his brother because Merrick was insufferable otherwise. But Sebastien wouldn't be ruled by those sorts of indulgences. He wouldn't allow the future of his very tribe to be directed by decisions that he hadn't allowed himself to question. Even if it wasn't his place to question them. 

He spoke finally, undecided but letting his instincts guide him. "You know him. This brown-eyed wolf. Joe." 

Nicky's sad eyes narrowed. 

"I need to find him. I need to speak to him." Sebastien moved in, speaking softly. "You can take me." 

"No." Nicky answered instantly, more firmly than any other words he had spoken to Sebastien. "I won't." 

"It's important. I can tell him something he probably wants to know." 

"You've always been good to me, Sebastien. But I can't. Don't ask me to." 

Sebastien frowned. He looked back once more, his brow creased. 

Nicky started to turn. 

"You can take him a message from me, then." 

Nicky didn't move for a moment. He searched Sebastien's eyes, and looked past him down the empty path. 

Sebastien spoke softly in the pause. “’Et la vie sépare ceux qui s’aiment, /Tout doucement, sans faire de bruit.’” 

Nicky’s wide eyes turned back to him, nervous but brighter than they had been. Recognition. It wasn’t all gone. 

“Prévert.” Sebastien smiled after a moment, small but sincere. “That was the poet’s name. Jacques Prévert.” 

Nicky frowned, brow furrowed, eyes losing focus for a moment. He mouthed the name, maybe recommitting it to his spotty memory. 

Then he frowned at Sebastien. "What’s the message?" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lines Sebastien quotes translate roughly, "But life parts those who love each other/Slowly, without making any noise."


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the hours leading up to the full moon, Sebastien and Joe have a meeting. It doesn't go well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again I'm a little late, and this is a little shorter than the first few chapters. But here.

This time there was no smile on Nile’s face when she announced Joe’s visitor. 

As grim as he felt, just hours from the oncoming moon, Joe figured it was fitting that if Nicky was going to show up uninvited so soon after promising not to, he would do it looking like someone had just murdered a puppy in front of him. 

His shoulders were slumped, his smile gone without a trace. He seemed wan, without his usual cheerful, annoying energy. 

“What?” Joe asked as he moved from the hallway into the front room of Leon’s apartment. 

Nicky faced him with spine stiff, braced like he just knew Joe was going to plant a knife in his stomach. “Sebastien wants to meet with you.” 

Joe blinked. “Sebastien.” 

Nicky nodded. 

“The fang that hangs out with your stalker.” 

Another nod. 

Joe sucked in a breath. “What exactly did you tell him about me?” he asked, glancing back at Nile.

She moved in around him and didn’t even pretend like she wasn’t listening. In return, he didn’t even try to ignore that her interest had sharpened when she heard Sebastien’s name.

“Nothing! He wanted me to bring him to meet you, I said no. But he asked if I could bring you a message.” Nicky looked miserable. 

It was a mistake to even ask. It was a mistake to do anything but throw this guy out on his pretty ass before he brought more trouble down on Joe’s head. 

Instead: “What message?” 

Nicky’s frown deepened, like he was disappointed in Joe for _not_ throwing him out. “He says he can tell you what's happening to you." 

“What's…” Joe hesitated at that, sharp points of teeth pressing against his tongue as he drew in a breath. 

Sebastien had caught his eye both times he’d run across the fangs. Merrick had been much more dangerous, and obnoxious, but Joe had noticed Sebastien all the same. At least he noticed the way Sebastien watched him. Especially the second time around, when he knew Joe was a wolf and knew he had survived. There had been shock there, yeah, but something else. Something Joe took as wonder, or confusion. 

But maybe instead it was some kind of recognition. 

He had a thousand things to do. There were still a dozen wolves Andy didn't manage to call back, hopefully they would all be coming to the bar in a few hours to find out where they would spend the full moon. There were still a few spots Joe needed to find. He'd gone through his list of contacts last night, but there were some in the middle he couldn't reach. He had to try them again. 

He had a million damned things pulling at him, and Nicky had to bring him this. 

Joe had been terrified and trying his best to hide it since the moment he died in that alley and woke up again. He could feel himself changing little by little, and no one could tell him what he was becoming. No one could tell him if he would need blood, if he would still change under the full moon. No one could tell him what he was. 

He wasn't _anything_. He was never anything. He wasn't human, and wolves turned him away because he was wrong, not one of them. Now he was becoming something _else_ , and he was fucking scared of it. 

He wanted to know. He wanted answers. 

But not today. For God's sake, not _now_. 

It was hard for him to answer, though, as easy as the answer was. “Whatever the fang thinks he knows, he'll still know it tomorrow. He can meet me then or he can forget it.” 

“He said...” Nicky spoke fast, looking from Joe to Nile. “It has to be today. Now. In the alley where you bit Merrick?” Curiosity colored those last words. 

“Of course it does. Why?” 

“Because tonight everything changes. After tonight you won't be able to get to him.” 

Joe froze. 

Tonight everything changes. The fang knew what was coming. Sebastien was probably the only chance he had to find out what else was being planned now that Whidbey had been cut off for the city wolves. 

And he knew what was happening to Joe. 

Joe couldn't leave what he was doing and have a chat with some fang. For a hundred different reasons, he couldn't. But he couldn't afford to let a chance like that slip by, either. 

“Joe.” Nile was already shaking her head. “Come on. You're not this stupid, are you?” 

He hesitated, studying Nicky. “You know this guy, right? Is this some kind of trap?” 

Nicky blinked in honest surprise. “You're...asking my opinion?” 

“Yeah. You know him, I don't. You brought me the message; you must think there's something to it.” 

“I don't..." Nicky shook his head. “No. I can't...don't make me responsible for—” 

“Answer the fucking question!” 

“Joe, for Christ's--” 

He jerked his hand out, gesturing Nile to shut up. His eyes stayed on Nicky. 

Nicky jumped at Joe’s last words, but after a moment of wide-eyed staring, he straightened. He lifted his chin and drew in a breath, his eyes clearing of misery, replacing it with something that looked a little stronger. 

His voice was clipped as he answered, that accent thick in his words. “Sebastien thinks for himself. He isn’t afraid to go against the tribe if he thinks something's wrong. He was the only reason Merrick didn't drag me back underground before you showed up that night. But he and Merrick are Meta's closest, and Sebastien is devoted to his Mother. So." He nodded, sharp, as if reaching the end of some report. "Make up your own mind.” 

Then he turned on his heel and stalked past Nile to the hallway leading down the stairs. 

The tension running through Joe, that had sharpened so fast into anger, relaxed a little as he watched Nicky go. He felt a wry smile twitching at his lip. 

About time he started responding to Joe’s attitude instead of ignoring it. His stubborn, inexplicable interest in Joe wouldn't last much longer, Joe was willing to bet. It was inevitable: Joe pushed everyone away sooner or later. 

But it still made something inside of him ache. 

No matter how often he drove people away from him, there was something disappointing about it. Made no sense, maybe, but then it wouldn't be the only self-defeating thing about his personality. 

Besides, Nicky was the last thing he had time to think about right then, so he pushed the pet from his mind. 

Apparently, he had a meeting with a vampire. 

* * *

He used to be a miner. 

Ages ago, in another world. In his youth, in England, it was his life. For years he worked the dulled, white-walled caverns of the salt mines of Middlewich, and it was the most tedious existence imaginable. 

He was more delicately built than many of the men he worked with, but then he was still alive and they were not. 

Of course, he was a human back then. Like them, he was meant to stay human, stay in the mines, through his life and death. 

So the things that he used to be never haunted Merrick anymore. 

He remembered it all, though. He was far enough away from that life that there was no one living in Cheshire now who would remember even his sisters' children, but he wasn't so removed that his memories were worn away. He remembered, and sometimes it amused him to remember. 

Stephen. That had been his name, the one men called him. He had rid himself of that name, for that reason. Most vampires chose to hold on to first names, but 'Stephen' had been a sniveling, scared little man. So Stephen had to die. 

He hated the underground world back then. Men he worked beside always said that they were lucky, that the salted air was good for the health, that the bright corridors and caverns were a thousand times better than the choking darkness of coal or mineral mines. 

All Merrick thought, even back then, was that they were there at the whim of bosses, of men who controlled their lives, and so none of them were lucky. Not at all. 

Now, of course, he was a prince of the underground world. And so, he adored it. The darkness, the richness, the security. He was no worker there, no human, no servant to the laws of others, and so it was his home. 

Oh, he wasn't completely in control, he knew that. But he was the chosen first son of a Mother who adored him and would never make him obey rules he didn't want to follow. 

And it was his Mother he was relying on at that moment to bring him calm and comfort. Because if his Mother couldn't manage that, then Merrick was going to kill his brother. 

“He was here!” 

Meta sat behind her desk, regarding a dim computer screen and a pile of the endless paperwork that had weighed her down since she started her quest for legitimate human authority. She looked up as Merrick burst in, and regarded him calmly. 

“Nicky!” Merrick threw himself into the chair across from Meta's desk and glowered out at nothing. “An hour ago, two at the most! I was sleeping. Sleeping, like some lazy _nothing_ , and he was a hundred feet away.” 

“Merrick.” 

“And Sebastien! Sebastien was with him! Talking to him! He was _seen_ , and he let Nicky _leave_ , and everyone is talking about it now! Whispering in the lanes out there, looking at me like I'm some sort of--” 

“Merrick!” 

He cut off, eying his Mother. 

Meta looked at him evenly, and her voice was controlled when she spoke. “Tonight is the full moon. I have a great deal to see to today. I have no time for this.” 

Merrick heaved a sigh but sagged back in the chair and sulked. 

Yes, fine, full moon. Meta had planned for this particular full moon for quite a while. She had things to arrange. Important things. But that didn't mean that everything outside of those plans was irrelevant, damn it. Especially a matter as obviously important as this one was. 

Merrick didn't speak, though. Meta was tense already, and this wasn't the sort of issue his Mother appreciated being burdened with. 

Merrick could be...egotistical, he supposed, if the opinions of others were to be trusted, but honestly. After months of chasing, Nicky was right there, and talking to Merrick's own soft-hearted brother. 

Who, it needed to be said again, _let him_ _go._

“He isn't even here,” he said after a moment, petulant but softer. 

Meta sighed, but looked across at him and softened a little. There was indulgence on her face. “The pet? I should think not.” 

“No. Sebastien.” Merrick leaned back in his chair, regarding the darkened ceiling of Meta's study. “I can't find him anywhere. I suppose he might be with a Devoted, but you know how he is about--” 

“Sebastien.” 

Merrick's gaze lowered, frowning a little when he saw the sudden concern on Meta's face. He sat up. “I looked for him as soon as I heard about Nicky. I can't find him anywhere.” 

“Sebastien has gone aboveground?” 

Merrick shrugged. Sebastien had run away, at least for a while. No doubt he was avoiding Merrick's rage while he could. 

Sebastien was an irritating thing sometimes, all brooding and distant. He liked to run from Merrick when he simply didn't want to deal with him. Yet he did _this_. Had Nicky in his grasp and all but ushered him away to safety. 

Really, he brought Merrick's rages on himself. 

“It's daylight,” Meta said, frowning. 

Merrick waved that off. “It's Sebastien. He's never cared about that sort of thing the way that he should.” 

She granted him a faint smile. “You mean he isn't blessed with your overdeveloped sense of vanity.” 

He grinned. Meta was the ruler of the city, the master of her tribe, but Merrick could still make her smile when she needed it. It was a heady feeling. 

She regarded Merrick, her smile fading into thoughtfulness. “There are times when I worry about your brother. I suspect he won't be entirely comfortable with the actions we must take in the coming days.” 

Merrick blinked. “You mean throwing the dogs out of the city? Sure he will. He'll be fine with it, especially now that he's seen one of them try to tear my throat out. “ 

Her gaze drifted down, hovering at Merrick's neck. “He's been troubled lately. Sebastien isn't suited for fighting the way you are, Merrick. He will not understand what we're going to do.” 

“He's always lived half in his head, but he’s _fine_. I haven't noticed any--” 

“You are too absorbed in your own ridiculous obsessions to be a suitable judge,” she answered, sharp. 

He sat up, a bit stung, and tried to match his Mother's serious tone. “He feels too much, yes, but he isn't so sensitive to fighting.” 

“It will not be his feelings that trouble him, it will be his intellect. If he doesn't understand what we're doing, that will trouble him more than his emotions.” She focused on Merrick again, granting another small smile. “I don't believe even you understand, not entirely.” 

Merrick grinned. “I don't have to understand. I'm not Sebastien, I'm content not to understand. But I do. More than you think.” He leaned in, pitching his voice lower though what he was saying was hardly a secret. “What I _don't_ understand, if you're wondering, is why those foul wolves are infesting the city as it is. Not the Whidbey Island wolves: I do understand humans and their desire to appear fairer and more considerate than they are. But the other ones.” 

He gestured at the desk, at the papers. Some of them, he was sure, were reports about the illegal wolves, the ones the vampires knew about. 

“Why have we gone so long letting them hide in the shadows and infest our city? We will be rid of them after tonight, sure, but I don't understand why it's taken so long.” 

Meta raised her eyebrows, following Merrick's eyes down to the papers covering her desk. “Do you know how many wolves live in this city and on the island?” 

Merrick smirked: he had never come close to caring, so of course not. 

“They outnumber us,” she said. “Perhaps five to one, though even we don't know the true numbers of the illegal population.” 

“Yes, but.” He grimaced. “They're _werewolves_.” 

“Your ego is a wonder. Yes, they're beasts. Compared to us they are nothing. We are stronger, faster. We are practically immortal. But.” 

Merrick waited, holding back a sigh. He wasn't sure sometimes if Sebastien got his love of dramatic pauses from Meta or if it was the other way around. “But?” 

“But they are not entirely inhuman.” She regarded a few specific papers, though Merrick didn't care enough to see what might be on them. “They are creatures, yes, but thinking creatures. It doesn't pay to underestimate that sort of animal. They have strength, even if it doesn't compare to ours. They have voices, which is dangerous considering how fickle our human allies can be. Some of them,” she said, “even have pride.” 

Merrick snorted. “Yes, they've got so much to be proud of.” 

“Listen to me, Merrick. Don't trivialize something like pride. Pride leads to rebellion. To warfare. You ask why we've allowed wolves to break the law and live in the shadows here in the city? That is why. It gives the few wolves with the strength to rebel the illusion that they _are_ rebelling.” 

“They're breaking the humans' laws,” Merrick pointed out, “they're living here without fee and penalty. Even a paltry victory like that is still a victory.” 

“They work filthy, grueling jobs and live in hovels that aren't fit for humans. Perhaps it is a victory in their eyes, but it is nothing that hurts us to give them. And it keeps the rebels busy. It gives them satisfaction and stops their minds from turning towards any real action. It renders the dangerous passive. And more than that, it ensures that the wolf population is forcibly divided.” She sat back, smiling. “There is nothing weaker than a divided pack. You will see evidence of that tonight.” 

Merrick grinned. He didn't care for politics or the broader issues, but he knew enough about the night's plans to know he could look forward to it. 

“You will understand by morning. When dozens of illegal wolves are caught tonight, when the humans see the scale of criminal behavior those wolves are capable of and realize that they have been in danger all these months and haven't known it, it will lead to a backlash against all wolves.” Meta smiled, grim and steady. “We let the illegal wolves remain because tonight they will bring down _all_ wolves.” 

Merrick sat up, returning her smile with a proud, pleased grin of his own. That was why he never bothered trying to understand what his Mother had planned: because Meta's plans were always brilliant, and he trusted in that. 

She relaxed after a moment. “I only wish we had caught the one wolf, the one that hurt you. I worry that he'll slip out of our grasp during the chaos tonight, or else that he will end up with the human authorities.” 

Merrick rubbed at his throat, his grin fading. “I'll go out onto the streets and hunt for it myself.” 

Meta chuckled. “I suppose you would be up there either way, watching.” 

“I wouldn't miss it.” 

“Very well.” She hesitated, brow furrowing. “But first there's a favor I would ask of you. You may not like it.” 

He straightened proudly. “You are my Mother. I don't have to like your commands to obey them.” 

She regarded him. “Well said, Merrick, but maybe you ought to hear the command first. It concerns your brother.” 

Merrick frowned. 

* * *

There was actually a vampire in the alley when Joe turned the corner and stepped between buildings. 

He didn't figure Nicky for a liar, but it was safest to assume a trick. There was Sebastien, though, standing close to the wall as if terrified to leave its shadow. He was bundled up, but not as much as Joe expected. Dark glasses over his face, a coat, the hood pulled low over his hair. If not for that wispy stale blood smell surrounding him Joe wouldn't have recognized him. 

When he spotted Joe approaching, Sebastien straightened and turned to him, keeping the concrete close at his back. If he was surprised that Joe showed, the sunglasses hid it. 

“Where's your psycho friend?” Joe asked before Sebastien could speak. He may have been there at a fang's request, but he wasn't about to let the fang run the show. 

Sebastien hesitated. “I'm here on my own. Merrick doesn’t know.” 

Joe had no reason to believe him, and hopefully his expression reminded Sebastien of that fact. “I came here expecting to smell an ambush.” 

“But you came anyway.” His head tilted in interest. “No, no ambush. No tricks. I wanted to speak to you, and Merrick is...not conducive to conversation.” 

“Why? Why speak to me?” 

"Because of what you are." Sebastien was annoyingly inscrutable behind the sunglasses. “You shouldn’t be possible. You’ve caused a stir underground, but...my brother and our Mother, their minds are in the wrong places. They’re ignoring the fact of you to focus on what repercussions you might bring.” 

“You fangs bring repercussions on yourselves.” Joe glanced behind him, just to make sure he was close enough to the opening onto the street to run if he had to. Just in case. “So, what about you? Where’s your mind?” 

There was a pause. Sebastien shifted, arms folding over his chest before dropping to his side again restlessly. If he didn’t know better Joe might have said he seemed nervous. 

“You…caught my attention.” His voice was uncertain too. “What you are, what you might mean. But, your eyes aside...your anger, your passion when you came to Nicky’s rescue. You challenged us, challenged Merrick, which was surprising enough. To have that passion and be a werewolf...” He shook his head. “I’m not as old as many of my tribe but it’s still rare that anyone catches me by surprise. You are surprising. And then…” 

A note in his voice made Joe stiffen, though he wasn’t sure why until Sebastien went on. 

“To see that same strength and passion in someone else...” 

“What? Who?” 

For a moment Sebastien’s face dipped down, and he seemed almost...bashful. Sheepish. “The human.” 

Joe regarded him, the down-turned head and softness in his voice, and just when he was thinking _no fucking way this prick is asking about--_

Just as he was thinking that the fang spoke again, one quiet word. “Nile.” 

Joe’s throat worked. His hands curled into fists at his sides. 

Sebastien seemed to be studying him behind his dark glasses, impassive as a wall. But Joe could fucking smell it. The faint, sharp trace of death-dimmed hormones. 

"No," he said instantly. 

Sebastien tilted his head. “No?” 

“No.” 

“You...you do realize there wasn't a yes or no quest--” 

“No!” Joe had to draw a breath to keep from shouting, to keep from possibly being overheard by any of the few humans on the streets at this hour. “No, I'm not talking to you about Nile. I am not talking to Nile about you. No, you two aren't going to waste my time with some completely ridiculous version of Zombie and Juliet, so shut up about it. Don’t say her name again.” 

“I think you misunderstand.” 

“No, I don't. I'm a wolf, fang. My nose doesn't lie.” 

Sebastien's cheeks dusted with pink, which was a hell of a thing. It was damned hard to pull a blush out of blood that was ninety percent dead. “But. I have no... I admit that I’ve...” He waved a hand between them, looking lost for words. “She simply surprised me. That’s all. I know nothing about her.” 

It sounded more like a complaint than an objection. 

Joe glowered. “I've seen what fangs are like when they're mooning over someone who doesn’t want them. Took a bite in the neck over it, remember? You think I'm gonna let it happen to her you've got another thing coming.” He moved in a few steps but stopped himself from getting too close. 

He was too angry too fast, and he needed to rein himself in considering everything he still had to do that day. 

Sebastien gaped at him, working his mouth as if trying to find words outraged enough to answer properly. But then he gave himself away, straightening and saying, “I am not my brother.” 

And hell if that wasn't as good as a confession. 

He seriously couldn't handle it. Joe had no idea what the hell kind of contagious stupidity was floating around that alley days ago, but he had a city full of wolves to save and he was sure as hell not going to let the most entirely fucked game of love-at-first-sight _bullshit_ he had ever even heard of get in his way. 

“Speaking of your brother,” he said fast, to keep the fang from trying to make his case, “what's his deal with the pet? Why is he stalking that poor guy?” 

“Nicky?” Sebastien seemed nonplussed by the change in subject. Maybe a little relieved. 

Joe glanced back behind him again, just in case saying the guy’s name too loud might make him appear. Whatever his feelings about Nicky, however they resolved themselves, he was a distraction. Him and the _second_ most entirely fucked game of love-at-first-sight that he was peddling. 

“Merrick has had a claim on Nicky since he was young, and he doesn’t like to lose things that are his.” Sebastien pondered Joe, and after a moment he added, “He'll convince Nicky to return underground, or he will destroy any life Nicky attempts to make for himself up here.” 

Those words, so calm and matter of fact, made his already bubbling anger broil over. It took everything he had to stay where he was, to let his hands roll into fists but keep them planted at his sides and not let fly. 

His gaze jerked back to Sebastien. He spoke through his teeth. “Because he belonged to Merrick, and he left. That's what you're saying?” 

Sebastien shrugged. 

“And that's a good enough reason for you? You're happy with that? Following along while Merrick terrifies a scared human?” 

“Of course not. But if I weren’t there, Nicky would have lasted days at most before being dragged underground again. I am my brother’s restraint.” Sebastien faced him squarely. “I have no interest in seeing Nicky go back to what he was. I've known him for years, and... I _liked_ him. I admire him for choosing the path he has." 

"You've got a seriously fucked-up way of showing--" 

“I don't conceal my opinions from Merrick.” He seemed to be trying to maintain some aura of calmness, but his words were already getting sharper. “But he has never let my opinion stop him from a chosen course of action. That's no reason for me to desert my own brother.” 

“And that...” Joe gestured at him, sharp, his voice tight. “That right there is one more reason why you're never gonna get close to my sister again, you fucking undead demon.” 

He sucked in a breath, trying to calm down. But there was so damned _much_ to be angry about. Nicky, Sebastien. The fact that Nile almost seemed like she was interested in this fucking fang, though she rarely expressed interest in anyone, as far back as Joe could remember. 

And Merrick, obsessed with grinding a poor guy’s life into dirt because that guy had the balls to walk away from him. 

It should have been gratifying. He knew now that Nicky hadn’t been exaggerating before. That Joe showing up that first night had saved Nicky from a fate he had fought hard to escape. That maybe the fang scars in Joe’s neck had been worth it. It had already been impossible to hate Nicky, and now Joe felt such rage at Merrick that he knew whatever he felt was pretty damn far from hate. 

But he didn’t have the luxury of even a few minutes to deal with a single one of those issues. 

“This isn't what I came out here for,” he said instead, through his teeth. “Nicky said you had answers for me.” 

Sebastien slid his sunglasses off, squinting into the shadowed sunlight, and after a moment he nodded. 

Joe moved in closer, relieved to be able to meet the fang’s eyes at last. He was confrontational, no use denying that. He liked eye contact, and the few people he trusted at all he had learned to trust eyes-first. 

Sebastien folded the sunglasses in surprisingly broad, square hands and seemed strangely bare without them. 

“Well?” Joe heard the snap in his own voice, and let out a breath. “You know something about this. About...” He gestured vaguely at himself. His eyes, his fangs. “You've seen it happen before?” 

“I have never heard so much as a rumor of it being possible,” Sebastien answered calmly. 

Joe swallowed down anger. “Then what the hell could you possibly have to tell me?” 

“I don't know about what happened to you,” he admitted. “But I know something about you.” 

Joe frowned, but folded his arms across his chest and waited. 

“What I have to tell you,” Sebastien went on after a moment, “has only ever been heard by vampires. It will give you an understanding, I think, about what might be happening, and why the mere fact of you has taken over Meta’s thoughts.” 

Joe waited through the annoying dramatic pause that followed, interested despite himself. 

“It is the story of how my kind first came to exist.” 

And. Okay. That was it. He was done. 

Joe had to look down, to focus on the ground, so that he didn't fling himself at the fang and start throwing elbows. 

“You're wasting my time,” he said, and by some miracle his voice was almost calm. “You sent Nicky to me, dragged me away from what I was doing - today of all fucking days - and you're completely wasting my time.” 

“You ought to hear me out. I have no concrete facts for you, no, but I have--” 

“You don’t have anything!” His eyes shot up, but he backpedaled even as he looked. He didn't have time for this, damn it. Didn't have time to even jump on the fang for wasting valuable daylight hours. “You think fangs are the only ones who know those stories? If you know them then you know our kind was _first_. How the hell would we not know how your kind showed up?” 

Sebastien studied him, eyes wide and uncertain. “That...makes no sense. For werewolves to know the stories that vampires know...” 

It was the same mythology Quynh had tried to soothe him with when he went to her after the bite. The same thing Andy kept trying to get him to listen to. That same magical mythological Creation bullshit. 

Joe shook his head, so far past mad that he could be calm. “Of course the wolves know.” 

“Then why would you choose to live the way you do? It makes no sense.” 

“Why...” No, he wasn't all the way past mad, because there it was slamming into him. “Why would we _choose_...” 

Sebastien moved in, regarding him with that same intent look of fascination he’d had last time they saw each other. 

Joe backed up, turning on his heel. If he stayed any longer there was going to be a fight, and fights with fangs seemed to end up complicating his life. 

“You stay the hell away from me and my family.” He glared over his shoulder as he moved into the safety of sunlight. “And tell your brother that if he comes around Nicky again, I'll kill him myself.” 

The sunny streets were nearly deserted. Most of the world was asleep, and the daywalkers and wolves were mostly working. There were a few stray people up and down the sidewalks, but no one he had to worry about. 

Joe stormed down the path, forcing himself to push down that fang and every distracting, stupid thing he brought with him. He tried to focus on the things he ought to have been focusing on. 

There were still shelters to find. More than a dozen wolves still needed instructions, still needed safety. It was on him to find it for them, and that was what he had to think of now. Not fangs or pets or even himself and his stupid impossible body. The wolves. They needed him. 

God, he just wanted _answers_. He was terrified: he could admit that, in his own head if nowhere else. He just wanted to know what was happening. For once in his life, he wanted to know what he was. 

Idiot. Of course Sebastien didn't know. Of course Sebastien only had the same bullshit fables everyone else did. 

He only made it a half a block from the alley when a firm cool hand clasped around his arm. 

“Wait.” 

He wheeled around, his fury unfazed, and wasn't even surprised that Sebastien had risked sunlight to follow him. 

“What's happening tonight?” 

Sebastien shut his mouth, brow wrinkling. The sunglasses were back on, the hood drawn tight around his head and casting shadow over his face. 

Joe twisted free from his grasp and hauled him over, shoving him into the wall of the nearest building. He would let him have the shadows but he didn't let the question go. 

“Is this Meta's whole plan? The bridge, the cops? She wants wolves to be trapped in the city for the full moon. So that they'll be loose, dangerous. So that people will be hurt. But for what?” 

Sebastien regarded him, obviously thrown off but with his same veneer of calmness. “Her plans are irrelevant.” 

“Fuck you. She wants chaos. Tell me why.” Joe ducked in, speaking low though there was no one around. “She wants to get wolves thrown out of the city. Even the Whidbey wolves.” 

“If that were her plan, I imagine it would be successful.” 

Joe shoved him again. Not hard, not as hard as he could have, but Sebastien wasn't fighting him back for some reason. 

“ _Why_?” he asked again, hoarse. “You have everything already. You've got the city, the humans, the night. What else can you take from us? These wolves don't have anything.” 

“You claim to know the origin stories, so you should know the answer to that.” 

“No.” Joe wanted to reach out and tear his sunglasses off, but he couldn't waste time. “That's mythology, thousands of years old. This is now. Nicky claims you're intelligent: prove it. Give me some reason why you're set against werewolves. A real reason.” 

Sebastien frowned. He didn't try to shake Joe's hands loose from his shirt. His mouth tightened, but he made no move to speak. 

Joe let him go with a growl of frustrated air. 

“You want a real answer, and I've already given one to you: the reason for Meta's plan is irrelevant.” Sebastien's voice was steady. “For you it’s irrelevant. The only thing you need to concern yourself with is what her plan is. And that it _is_ Meta's plan, and she never fails.” 

He pulled off his sunglasses again and met Joe's frustrated gaze. “What Meta wants for tomorrow means nothing if you don't survive tonight. And you won't, you and your wolves. Not whole. She won't allow it.” 

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. 

Fangs were cocky over-privileged jerks, fine, but Merrick had taunted Joe with comments about wolves he had literally _killed_. Meta was risking lives, wolf and human both. This thing between fangs and wolves, it was old and ugly, but it wasn't deadly. It wasn't supposed to be. Not anymore. 

Joe was used to the idea that he didn’t rate, that the wolves around him rated only as much as they were useful to humans. But this was murder. This wasn’t politics and privilege; this was taking things to the next level. A level wolves and fangs hadn’t been at since before humans discovered they existed. 

Joe knew how to make a living; he knew how to navigate the gutters of the city to help other wolves make a living. He had no idea how to handle himself now that it was turning into a fight for their lives. 

He wasn't an idiot. He wasn't so blinded by outrage that he didn't see the truth in Sebastien's words. Tomorrow's plans had to wait. Tonight's plans were what he had to fight. And he knew the what and why of tonight, so that was what he could act against. Tomorrow Meta would wake up to a world that wasn't what she hoped it would be, and she would come up with some new way to try and ruin or kill the wolves who were left. Joe would fight that too. 

For a moment, the idea made him feel utterly exhausted. 

He stepped back, arms falling to his sides. He rubbed at tired, scratchy eyes and knew that this whole meeting was a mistake. Yeah, he was terrified about himself, but he wasn't what mattered right then, damn it. 

“Joe.” 

He focused on Sebastien, too weary to react all that much to the fang knowing his name. 

Sebastien's throat worked. “You have to understand. Meta wants a future for her tribe. She doesn’t act out of blind hatred. She is a leader, a mother. You simply have the bad luck to be a dangerous member of the race that threatens her family.” 

“You already rule the world. Wolves are no threat to you.” 

“Right now vampires have the support of humans, yes, but humans are fickle. Tomorrow they might decide that we’re monsters. Nothing we have now is real, nothing is ours. It’s all been handed to us, and it could all be taken away again. If the old tales are true it _will_ be taken away, because of you.” He studied Joe, his gaze intent. “A wolf just like you.” 

“So it's self-defense? A preemptive strike?” Joe shook his head. “I think Nicky was wrong about how smart you are. Once Meta has driven the wolves out of this city, she'll have to make sure all wolves are driven out of every city, right? Because it would take some kind of ego for her to think that the downfall of fangs could only start with her tribe. And then of course she'll have to make sure that all those homeless wolves are rounded up and slaughtered. Right?” 

Sebastien's face seemed washed out, but maybe it was the sunlight cutting into the shadow, casting its pale glow on a face that rarely saw sun. 

“It isn't enough to cast us aside, is it? If you really believe that a wolf will throw you out of power and lead to the end of your whole race, then you'll have to kill us. All of us. Pushing us out of human cities and then letting us be, that only makes sense if Meta’s just using those old stories as an excuse. Either it's a planned genocide because your boss is scared of an old bedtime story, or it’s a bullshit excuse to push wolves down as a way to elevate herself.” 

Sebastien shook his head slowly. “You don't understand.” 

Joe was tired, he was pissed off about too many things to list, but somehow he was almost relieved. If slaughtering the whole race of wolves was the big plan, at least he knew it now. For decades wolves had been second-class shadows in a fang world, and that had been a wearying fight just the few years Joe had fought it. Now Meta meant to change it, to end it. The fangs were going for some kind of endgame. 

Maybe that was something he could manage some fresh energy for. 

Either way, Sebastien was right about one thing: tonight had to be survived before he could survive tomorrow. 

He regarded Sebastien, his exposed eyes and his tightly held mouth. “You tell your mommy I'll see her in the morning.” 

Which should have been a perfect exit line, but when Joe turned to go the fang grabbed him again and stopped him. 

Joe was calmer by then, but calmer for him wasn't saying much. He would have twisted, yanked away from him, snapped at the fang to give up the dramatics and go home. But the words stuck in his throat. 

There was someone further up the sidewalk, watching them. Someone buried under hoods and gloves and layers over layers. Someone wearing dark glasses with a scarf hiding the rest of his face. The very image of what Joe was expecting when he first showed up to meet a fang in the daytime. 

When he looked over he saw, for just a moment, that there was surprise thinning Sebastien's mouth. But he held on to Joe’s arm, and his grip only tightened. 

There was no denying who the new arrival was, though his voice was muffled under all those ridiculous layers. “Well, well. When Mother sent us up to find you I thought she was just worried about you being caught in daylight. But I think she must have sensed what you were hunting for up here.” 

Joe jerked at his arm, and Sebastien's grip immediately – deliberately, maybe – gave way. 

But Merrick moved fast, even bundled as he was, and suddenly he was behind Joe and grabbing for his other arm. Just as he was bracing to shove him back and get into another brawl with the conceited fang, Joe registered his words – sent _us_ up – and he could smell that there were others. Two, maybe more, coming up fast like dark clouds against the daylight. 

Well. Shit. 

Sebastien didn't set him up. Joe believed that, mostly because he was pretty sure that for all the 'brother' talk Sebastien didn't actually like Merrick all that much. But Merrick found him, and Joe with him. Merrick assumed Sebastien was hunting for Joe to bring him home to Meta. 

Sebastien was a devoted son to his Mother. Sebastien was going to play along. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The full moon rises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry! School's back, work's a bitch, society's collapsing. I'll try to post a second chapter this weekend to make up for how late this is. :D

There was something so anticlimactic about that moment. 

Meta couldn't help but smile, mild and thoughtful, as she approached the unexpected gift her sons had brought her. 

The wolf was wholly unimpressive. Draped in worn clothes that sagged over him as if there was meant to be more weight on his frame. He was still fairly young, but weary and sagging like every other wolf. Scraggly hair, scraggly beard.

Entirely unremarkable. 

But his _eyes_. Meta was caught in the beast's glare, and she found herself fascinated. 

She’d had warning, of course, that he didn't have a werewolf's yellow eyes, but she wasn't prepared to see vampire red instead. 

His eyes were brown under the red, dark and rich. The fury flashing from those eyes was deep. Old. The wolf had a great deal of anger inside of him, and he obviously didn't feel the need to hide it. 

Eyes aside, though, he was nothing but dingy and vulnerable as Meta stood over him, and it was amusing. 

So much rage and worry over this haggard thing. 

“You creatures,” she said, thoughtful, ignoring the beast's instant answering glare. “You're not human, obviously. But you're only wolf one night a month. So, what is it that you are the rest of the time?” 

“Fuck you.” 

The chair her sons placed the wolf in was solid, heavy and old. The ropes used to hold him in the chair were strong. They were in Meta's home, in the back of the underground city, and there was a crowd of interested vampires outside the door who knew about their visitor. 

The wolf wasn't going anywhere. He was no threat to her. No threat to anyone. 

“I have no idea what you are,” she admitted aloud. “You yourself, I mean. I know what some suspect you to be, but I don't know for sure. It's been years – decades – since I've been given a real mystery to figure out. I should thank you for that.” 

The wolf glared straight ahead, tense enough that Meta knew he hadn't accepted his situation yet. 

“I have a theory,” she said, walking around the chair to observe him from all sides. “This change that my son began in you, the bite that you somehow survived...if I were to guess I would say that it is likely to prove fatal after all.” 

The wolf's impressive red-brown eyes narrowed. He tilted his head, trying to follow her movements. “Fuck you,” he said again. 

Predictable. Meta moved around to the front of the chair. Slowly she sat in her own high-backed armchair, as if they were two acquaintances meeting for tea and conversation. 

“What’s your name, wolf?” 

The wolf frowned at her, but sat back and said nothing. 

She sighed. “Very well. I don’t suppose it matters. There is a vampire in your blood, that's clear,” she went on, regarding the wolf. “Werewolf bites are infections - spreaders of this disease that you all share. Vampirism is quite different. The vampire change is a matter of domination, of the vampire gift overpowering the human condition, asserting a hold over the body.” 

The wolf didn't fill the silence with more curses, but there was a 'fuck you' in those fascinating eyes that was just as loud as words. 

Amusing. Meta smiled at him as she went on. “In humans lucky enough to be changed, the vampire emerges quickly. Even wolf bites assert their hold over a human body by the next morning. Humanity is a frail thing that can't withstand the challenge of a stronger creature. But wolves…we've never had the opportunity to find out before whether a werewolf could withstand vampirism if it didn’t kill him instantly.” 

The wolf glared at her, spiteful and perhaps not listening to a single word. 

Meta continued, though, because the train of thought fascinated her. If she was talking to herself that suited her just as well. 

“Here is the interesting thing: you have not actually been a _wolf_ , not completely, since you were bitten. Tonight, that changes.” 

The wolf glowered, but there were lines furrowing into his brow and he didn't bark any more spiteful words. He was listening now. He must have given the matter of the full moon and how his body would react some thought already. Perhaps he wasn't an unthinking creature entirely. 

“Tonight,” Meta said, sitting back, “a vampire and a werewolf will finally meet under your skin, and they will fight for dominance. When you change...” Even as she said it, as the ideas formed in her mind, Meta couldn't help but be caught by them. Fascinating, these new things. “When you change you will fully become whatever it is that has been forming inside of you. And unless you're much stronger than you appear, I think it will kill you.” 

“Great,” the wolf grumbled. “I get to spend my last few hours listening to some egocentric zombie ramble about shit she doesn't know anything about.” 

Meta chuckled. 

The wolf reminded her of Merrick in some strange way. Perhaps because he didn't seem to understand his place. As much as Meta adored her son, Merrick refused to accept that he was not in charge of his own destiny. This wolf obviously didn't realize how low on the food chain he was. 

"Have you met anyone of any race who _does_ know something about what's happening to you?" 

The wolf grimaced. 

"Have you met many people who know anything about what you really are?" Meta's faint, civil smile spread out sharper. "I'm curious. This is the first chance I've had to speak directly to one of your brown-eyed pack. Has your kind rallied around you, talking about prophecies and fables and a werewolf that will lead them all to Better Days? Are you a prize to these common wolves? Or has having one of you here only made them more afraid?" 

“My brown-eyed pack.” The wolf peered at Meta, wary. 

Meta raised her eyebrow in a neat arch. “Did you think modern vampires had forgotten about the Kaysani line? The first, the original qutrub? That you'd fooled us into thinking you were all gone? Of course we know. We live so much longer than you do.” 

Delightfully, there was pure, open shock in the wolf's face at her words. He really didn't know that vampires would be aware of his background. Just like a werewolf, to live in fear of vampires yet so badly underestimate them. 

“And just what do you know about my _line_?” he asked after a moment, his voice strained. 

“More than you think. You've spread yourselves around over the last century, hoping we won't find you, but we always seem to. And we always deal with you. I'd assumed most of the line was dead and gone. I never thought to look for one here in my own city, though the few that have been found in America through the last decades have been on either coast, close to escape.” Meta smiled. “Of course, they're all gone now. And you will join them.” 

The words struck a chord in the wolf. Meta would have seen that even if she wasn't specifically looking for it. The wolf sat up, sucking in a breath, and the anger in his eyes all but doubled. 

Werewolves and their packs. Meta gave the creatures little in the way of respect, but they were driven to protect their own, and she did respect that. For herself, her tribe was the most important thing in the world, in all the lifetimes she would live. Her children were precious to her, and she would plot and plan and suffer endless tedious human bureaucracies to ensure their safety. 

The wolf tensed against his bonds, testing the ropes. “Your plans are going to fail,” he said, his voice a hiss. 

Meta smiled; her plans never failed. “So few of you wolves have brains in your heads. So few of you have any real spirit. Maybe you're one of the rarities with both of those things. But here you are, and the masses of your kind are out there, helpless without your guidance. I will not fail.” 

The wolf sat back, his hands still squeezed into fists. “I don't know what makes you think I'm the king of the werewolves, lady, but nobody up there will even notice I'm gone. You think keeping me here is going to help you out? The community works just as well without me in it.” 

“On Whidbey, perhaps. But inside the city itself?” 

He tensed. Really, he was so delightfully obvious with his emotions, it was remarkable. 

“You continue to underestimate us, I see. Did you think that the wolves living in the city had escaped notice? Of course we know about the network of wolves operating outside the law. There are illegal wolves in any cities with established wolf communities, but Seattle's lot have become strangely organized the last couple of years. The only thing I couldn't figure out was who did the organizing. Who was risking everything to help a pack of wild dogs break laws for their own benefit? And then you come along. A Kaysani wolf, able to pass as human. A missing piece. Maybe the only missing piece.” 

The wolf shook his head, but didn’t answer. 

“It’s those wolves, your wolves, who are unable to make it without help. Wolves are pack animals. Even here, in the city, when their birth packs are far away. Even here they cluster in groups, needing others around them. And like all pack animals, wolves need the guidance of an alpha to get anything done.” 

“You should stop getting your werewolf facts from Animal Planet,” the wolf answered, his mouth twisting in a hollow smirk. “There's a difference between werewolves and animals, fang. We’re not alphas and betas or whatever the hell you think. We’re people. We have conscious minds, and we use them.” 

“Not as much as you want me to think,” she answered with a faint laugh. “The beasts living in my city, there's nothing in their lives but work. They think of nothing else, nothing but the dusty memory of whichever pack they send their meager earnings to. They're drones. And tonight, they'll react as drones. Tonight, they'll sense danger, look for guidance, and when it doesn't come they will lash out.” 

“You're wrong.” 

“You say that, but your eyes are afraid,” she replied, looking behind the wolf at the clock on the wall. An hour, perhaps, until sunset. 

It was going to be the most interesting evening she'd had in some time. That made it easy to smile at the wolf, to speak almost sympathetically. 

“Even if you do survive this night, you will never leave my home to threaten my children again. But consider that a blessing. I am sparing you from seeing firsthand the eradication of your whole grubby little species.” 

* * *

When the door flew open, loud enough that it hit the back wall and made every person in the place jump, Nile was sure it had to be Joe. 

She came up from the back hallway and out to the bar, but though the face in the doorway was familiar it wasn't her brother. 

It was one of Joe's newest strays. Nile had first met him not long ago. 

“Lykon?” She moved around the bar fast, because loud entrance aside Lykon was looking pretty damn wild-eyed. Not the same quiet but growing terror that was on the faces of the other wolves. 

He looked around at the growing huddle of wolves; there were fifteen by then, and the day was far enough gone that Nile was hoping that was the whole group. Not that she knew what to do with fifteen scared werewolves, but fifteen was still easier than twenty. 

Whatever Lykon was looking for he didn't seem to find. He came to the bar fast, meeting Nile halfway. "Do you know Andy?" 

"Yeah, of course." 

"Have you seen her?" 

The question was urgent enough to focus Nile's thoughts again. Lykon seemed a mild, almost timid guy when Nile first met him, but he was all intensity right then. 

"Not lately. Not today, if that's what..." She trailed off. "Aren’t they still watching the bridge? She should be on the island alre--" 

"If she was on the island I wouldn't be asking!" He looked around at the other wolves again, as if Andy might be hiding somewhere among them. “I keep calling, and the other woman, the human, says she’s unavailable. But that isn’t right. Not tonight of all nights." 

"Andy isn’t stupid." Nile frowned, but hell if she could handle one more worry. "Joe says every wolf on the island's on some list, right? If she's still in the city she'll--" 

"Get in trouble. Be in trouble. I _know_ , that's why I'm trying to..." Lykon trailed off, heaving a breath. “Sorry, sorry. I know you’re helping.” 

Nile grinned weakly. "Look, you don't have long before the sun starts setting. I'm sure she's on the island, I'm sure she's fine. Do you have a place to go for the night?" 

Lykon frowned, looking tired and out of sorts. Kind of like how Nile felt. She didn't envy him - he hadn't been in the city much more than a couple of weeks, and this was the first change he had to go through away from his pack. That had to be hard to handle under the best of circumstances. 

He drew in a breath and heaved it out again, and his shoulders twitched and then relaxed, letting go of a little of his tension. "I didn’t--" 

The clock above the bar chimed, soft and low. 

Silence fell so deep and sudden that Nile worried she might have just gone completely deaf. All voices cut off, all breathing seemed to stop. All eyes went to the clock. 

It was five. 

If it were any normal day Nile would have started tabbing out people's checks, the wolves would start wrapping things up and heading home, over the bridge or to their hiding places in the city. 

Leon, who was over with the crowd of wolves, lending them his near-constant sense of calm, broke from the group and approached Nile. There was no mistaking the grimness in his eyes. 

In half an hour, the sun would be too low. Any wolf on the street, even if they were on their way to the bridge and the island, would be at risk for being stopped and questioned. Half an hour. 

"Damn it," Lykon said, just taking his eyes off the clock. The tension was back in his shoulders, and his eyes were getting wild again fast. 

Nile saw what was coming. She grabbed his arm. "Don't even think about it. She's got to be on the island, Lykon, she's fine." 

Lykon twisted out of her grasp, looking from the clock to the door. "Look, if she shows up here..." 

"It's too late. The sun is going--" 

"Right." Lykon seemed to take the words at motivator. Suddenly he was streaking to the door, pushing through and out and into the setting sun outside. 

"Damn it!" Nile started after him but froze, unsure. She couldn't chase after one wolf, she'd be leaving a dozen behind. But she couldn't just let Lykon get caught or change out on the streets and hurt people. 

"Nile." Leon spoke fast as he moved in, his voice low and sharp. "We can't save everyone." 

"We can't save _anyone_ ," she snapped back. But she turned away from the door anyway. Lykon already had a head start and wolves were faster than humans. 

She turned to Leon. "Where the hell is he?" 

Leon moved in even closer, laying a hand on her arm, speaking in a murmur. "You know what it would take to keep Joe from getting back in time. There's no point speculating beyond that." 

"So, what the hell do we..." 

Leon frowned back at the wolves. They were standing by then, gathered around that table. Doom sat on them, thick enough that it hurt to look at them. 

Nile remembered something, completely out of nowhere. Joe's voice was in her head, as loud and unmistakable as if he were right there where he should have been, though it was just a memory from a few grim nights ago: _"They're too scared to move unless me or_ _Andy_ _or someone's telling them it's okay. The only way I can help them is on my own, or else I'm going to turn into them."_

Nile didn't get it at the time, she didn't get how Joe could be so sure that asking for help would cripple him for good. But Jesus, those wolves really were lost. And there Nile and Leon were, wringing their hands. Had been for hours, all because Joe wasn't there to tell them where to go and what to do. 

And she got it suddenly. She understood. 

Not Joe’s thesis statement about how asking for help would make him helpless: that was bullshit. But there was another lesson there: if the help you're waiting for doesn't come, you damn well help yourselves. 

Nile knew exactly what to do, and she was just a little bit mad she didn't think of it sooner. She was Nile Freeman, damn it. Even if that didn't mean anything to anyone but her, she had always considered herself strong enough to make tough choices. 

She didn't even ask Leon first, just turned to those wolves and pitched her voice loud. "Okay, everybody: listen up." 

The wolves turned to her instantly, hushed voices cutting off. 

Nile frowned and moved in, because maybe they were all but helpless without someone there to direct them, but they were terrified people in a world that hated them, and Nile had a clue what it was like to be one of them. 

She pointed back at the door behind the bar. When she spoke, it was with a voice that was altogether new to her - sharp and strong. She talked like she expected to be listened to. "Go through that door, turn left, through the last door and down the stairs. We've only got a little time before the moon starts affecting you guys, so I need everyone to help. There's a ton of glass bottles and boxes stored down there, we need to haul those up here and clear enough space for you. Got it?" 

There were a few nervous looks from wolf to wolf. 

Nile cleared her throat. "It's a decent-sized cellar, and there's a door that locks at the top of the stairs. Me and my dad are the only humans in the building. It's not ideal, but it's what we've got." 

Still they didn't move. 

Nile was about to snap at the whole group of them when one of them elected herself spokesperson. A slender woman, young, light-skinned but Nile pegged her for at least part black. She had a cloud full of curls on her head and huge, striking yellow eyes. 

"We can't." 

"Why not?" Nile fired back. 

"It's too dangerous." 

Her mouth dropped open. "More dangerous than changing in your own homes, or us kicking you out onto the sidewalk?" 

"Yes. For _you_ , it's more dangerous. We can't allow that." 

"What?" 

The woman looked back at the crowd of wolves, obviously speaking for the group. "It's our rule. Every wolf in the city knows it." 

"Your rule?" 

She nodded. "We have three: we don't get caught, we work hard for our pack, and we don't bring trouble to this place, or to your family." 

"You..." Nile hesitated. Her mouth shut. 

That was not what she expected. 

She looked behind the woman at the rest of the solemn-eyed wolves. They wore their terror like a familiar old coat, but there was something else there with it. Pride, maybe, or determination. It was strong. The strongest she'd seen most of those wolves look. 

They didn't bring trouble to this bar, to Nile's family. It was their rule. 

She had to remind herself forcibly what time it was, and that there was no time to let something like that sink in. 

"Look, that's...it's good of you. All of you, really, but..." She hesitated. 

Leon moved up beside her, and for a moment Nile was abashed to think she’d volunteered his home and bar to be a haven for illegal wolves on the most dangerous night most of them had ever known. 

But Leon spoke firmly. "If you leave here, you'll be caught. People will be hurt. Everything we've ever tried to do for you would be wasted. We appreciate that you want to look out for us, but if we let you leave tonight, we wouldn't deserve it." 

The woman frowned, looking back at the others. 

Nile moved in, joining the wolves at the table. "We're losing time here, and we've wasted too much already. We're not interested in self-protection right now." She flashed a smile to the group, confident, as proud about her choice as the proudest wolf could be. "You want to help us? Get down there and get enough of our stock out of that cellar that we can open for business tomorrow." 

There were a couple of reluctant smiles from the group. 

Nile looked to the woman, since she made herself their voice. "Please. There isn't any other option that me or my dad could live with." 

She met Nile’s eyes for a moment, then nodded. "Thank you." 

They were soft, those two words, but Nile heard a real, deep gratitude in them. She seemed to be speaking for more than tonight, and more than the small group that were stuck there. 

She understood something else: she understood why Joe did what he did. She understood why their dad let Andy send stray wolves to his bar. She got why her family couldn't be at peace. 

Because these were good people with courage and pride, and someone had to do right by them. Maybe if it wasn't the Freemans, it would have been another family and another bar. But if it were, Nile wasn't sure she'd be able to look at herself in a mirror. 

The wolves started moving, Leon waving them through the back of the bar and leading them downstairs. 

The woman hung back a moment, watching them go. 

Nile stuck out her hand. "Don't think we've been introduced. I'm Nile." 

She smiled, looking almost amused. "There isn't a wolf in the city that doesn't know you and what you do for us, Nile." She shook Nile’s hand firmly. 

Huh. Maybe being Nile Freeman did mean something to more than just Nile. Imagine that. She and Leon had been actual heroes this whole time and didn't even know it. 

She returned the smile, and they took up the rear of the group filing after Leon. "Well. Thank you." 

"You're thanking me? For what?" 

"It'd probably take too long to explain it." 

* * *

Meta was every bit the ego-driven nutcase that the stories made her out to be, but she was right about one thing: whatever werewolves became during the change, it was entirely different from who they were the rest of the time. 

Every moment of their lives away from the full moon, werewolves were just people. Their senses were sharper and they had instincts that humans weren't born with, but they weren't animals. They were feeling, thinking people. 

But a werewolf stopped thinking as its body ripped itself inside out and reformed into this new thing, and that was the one blessing a wolf had going for it. For a while the conscious mind felt the change coming. Some of the effects happened while the brain was still in charge. Some of the pain could be remembered. But not most of it. Maybe it was a blessing, or maybe the brain could only handle so much before it shut down. 

Because it was wrong. The whole thing. Wrong beyond comprehension. Nobody was supposed to go through that sort of transformation. 

Joe never talked about it, because he didn't talk about _anything_ much less something that personal, but for him that was the worst thing about the change. The pain, yeah, the pain was unbelievable. But under the pain, through the pain, in those moments between spasms when the pain faded back, there was the wrongness of it. 

His body broke, changed. Something that lay dormant in his veins clawed its way out, pushing through to the surface. Every muscle, bone, every inch of skin and tooth and hair, all of it twisted from what it was supposed to be into something else. 

Joe was born a wolf. What happened to him wasn't unnatural, it was exactly what his body was born to do. A werewolf wasn't a monster, not even that one night a month; an entire race of people weren’t just born monsters, whatever the fangs and the humans wanted to say. Still, even the proudest wolf would have admitted that nothing natural should hurt as much as the change did. It was bad enough that even an angry child like Joe would sob to his adopted parents, swear to be good if they would just make it go away, just once. 

It was easy to argue wolf rights, to throw noble words at someone like Sebastien and act as if in those enlightened times everyone ought to have forgotten the old stories and gotten hip to the age of equality. Until the full moon, until the first prickles of his skin reminded Joe of what was ahead and his pride flew out the window. 

He truly felt cursed when he felt the change starting. 

This full moon, this single most amazingly fucked full moon, there was one advantage to the familiar burn of dread that came from feeling his skin twitching around his flesh: when he realized it was coming, he couldn't fear anything else. 

He was tied to a chair - a fucking chair, tied, with rope, like some shitty movie he wouldn't even watch on TV - in the middle of a lair full of fangs. Meta herself was sitting in the same room, staring at him like he was just the most curious damned thing ever. Above his head there was a city full of wolves meeting god only knew what kind of fate. Inside his veins there was a vampire looking for a fight. 

But one moment he was worried about all those things, and the next moment all he could think was, _Jesus, no. Not again._

The first spasm struck him like a lightning bolt, as always. Out of nowhere, hard and fast and he didn't hear himself screaming or feel himself moving, but when he could breathe again his throat burned and his arms were sore from fighting those ropes. 

Already the airless iron smell of the room, the fangs, the underground, was a hundred times stronger. Already the darkness shrouding the room felt brighter, crisper. 

It took all his fragile control not to burst into tears after that first spasm. If there was someone he could have begged, someone who could make the whole thing not happen, he would have done it. He would have gone down to the crossroads, sold his soul to the devil to make it go away. He didn't know a single wolf who wouldn't. 

The second spasm made his bones splinter. His ribs crackled as his heart twisted and compressed. 

He was tied up, and that was new and horrible. He couldn't fight it as the bones of his hands split, shredded, grew shorter and blunter. Sharp, thick claws forced their way through his fingernails. Every pore of his skin caught fire as thick hairs forming underneath began to stab their way out. Joe fisted his hands, helpless, his newly growing claws biting into his palms. 

When the spasm receded enough that he could at least breathe, every breath was a sob. The spasms would only come faster and last longer, until even his brain started twisting and shrinking and changing. 

But that was the blessing. When his brain succumbed to the change then the pain became the wolf's to deal with, and Joe’s mind would go to sleep. He wouldn't be himself again until the sore awakening in the morning. 

He shut his eyes against Meta's bemused stare, clenching his jaw against any threat of a scream. He just hoped the werewolf was strong enough to break those ropes. If he was never going to see daylight again then it was only justice that he got to take down a few fangs on his way out. 

The pain came again, a thundering crash down on him like he was standing under a breaking wave. He could feel the pops down his spine as his bones spread, lengthened, thickened. His arms strained against the ropes binding them, but when he could feel his skin about to give in and shred, even his skin succumbed to the change. Those pinpricks of forming hairs shoved through the surface, hundreds an inch, until skin became fur. 

He wouldn't scream. He wouldn't give her that kind of satisfaction. His body was dying and being reborn at the same moment, and there weren't words for how it felt, but he snarled and strained and met it head on, like the grouchy pain in the ass everyone knew him to be. 

But when even his vision began to change, when the room brightened and sharpened under the wolf's eyes, Joe felt the first renewed prickle of fear. 

He should have been gone by then. His skin was hide, his hands were thick paws. He never stayed aware for that long, and he had never wanted the wolf to take him over so badly before. 

Christ, maybe the wolf was too distracted. Maybe somewhere under Joe's skin the werewolf was fighting a fang. 

It hit him again, another spasm, a pop as his hips fused and reformed, his ribs spread and thickened, his face crackled under his skin and around the scream that this time he just couldn't stop. His bones pushed outwards, his mouth and nose fused and distended. There was thick brown fur filling his peripherals and he was _still there_. 

Why the hell was he still there? 

The scream he couldn't stop changed, dropped from his throat to his chest, rose in pitch. Shifted from the scream of a human to the howl of a wounded animal. 

Meta leaned forward in her chair like she was watching a movie that just got particularly interesting. But Joe couldn't stop the sounds, couldn't stop the streak of tears. 

And he knew, suddenly, as coherently as anyone could know anything under that kind of pain, that Meta was right earlier. This change was different, and horrible. Inside of his body the werewolf must have been fighting the fang. 

And there was no way he was going to survive it. 

* * *

“You have to come up with me! It's hilarious!” 

"I told you--" 

Merrick beamed and grabbed his brother's arm, pulling Sebastien from the safety of Celeste's quiet home. “Come on! Just a quick stop at home to report to Meta and then we can go up and watch the fun!” 

There were times when Merrick was so overwhelming, so enthusiastic and magnetic and infectious, that Sebastien couldn't help but share his excitement. 

This was not one of those times. 

Sebastien hadn't been home since they dragged the wolf there, left him tied and at Meta's mercy. He stayed away. He wanted no part of it. 

His brain was too merciless to let him fool himself: he was part of it whether he was there or not. He had betrayed Joe. Asked him to meet and then grabbed him, forced him underground, betrayed his dubious trust. All because Merrick arrived, and Sebastien couldn't own up to his own actions. 

Joe had fought. Hard. Merrick brought two of their tribe with him, and this time there was no element of surprise in the wolf's unnatural speed or strength. Still, he fought. Every moment, every step to the door, down the stairs, into Meta's home, into the chair they bound him in. He fought as if he couldn't bear to stop fighting for even a moment. 

By the time they got him safely confined, all but Sebastien had new scratches in their skin, and one of his brothers had bled so much he had to run to find a Devoted without even taking a moment to catch his breath. 

The wolf...Joe. Sebastien knew so little about him. He was abrasive, but that was no reasons to bring harm to him. Merrick needed no reason beyond the obvious, but for Sebastien 'he's a werewolf' had never been sufficient excuse to torment someone. 

He tried to remind himself that Joe had attacked Merrick. He was only reminded in turn that Merrick had attacked him first. 

Joe first confronted Merrick to help Nicky, a stranger to him who was being threatened. When he later sank impossible fangs into Merrick it was in a rage brought on by Merrick threatening his… 

Nile. 

There was nothing about Joe’s capture that Sebastien was proud of. 

Sebastien was a vampire. Merrick was his brother. Meta was his Mother, and Sebastien had never failed her. This was his family, his race. He chose them. He couldn't turn against them for being who they had always been. 

But he would not celebrate it. 

“Come on, you sulking log! I'm sorry I showed up and kept you from getting all the credit for the wolf being caught, but honestly!” Merrick grabbed his arm, pulling him down the road towards their home. “You've got to cheer up. It's going to be the greatest night!” 

Sebastien didn't want to go, but he didn't fight Merrick. He had asked for Joe to meet him, he spoke to him about Meta's plans. He would have let him leave. It was a betrayal of his tribe, made all the worse because his family considered him a hero for how it ended up. 

He didn't want to face Joe again, but perhaps it was a fitting punishment. He was responsible, he ought to face the repercussions. His family would never know that he met that wolf with a different purpose, so his punishment would have to be self-inflicted. 

Still, Sebastien couldn't smile at Merrick. He couldn't share the enthusiasm. 

They approached Meta's house and had to make their way through a crowd of murmuring vampires and addled, chattering Devoted. Merrick had spread the word about their hostage, no doubt. Sebastien hadn't heard; after they were dismissed, he’d sequestered himself with Celeste, a new addition to their tribe but a friend who shared his fondness for learning, and who spoke the language of Sebastien’s first life. 

As they got closer to the house a sound became distinct from the crowd. A wavering noise, high and horrible. 

“Jesus, is that the wolf?” Merrick practically beamed his approval, pushing past a couple of vampires and moving through the front door that no other vampire would dare enter uninvited. 

The sound was loud inside the home, and yes, it was Joe. It had to be – only an animal could make that kind of terrified, agonized sound. 

Merrick made his way down the hall eagerly. 

Sebastien followed slowly, on dragging feet. The moon must have been up outside. Joe must have been a wolf by then. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to see him as the monster he was, to watch him rage and snarl and fight. Maybe it would help him accept what had happened. 

The door to the sitting room beyond Meta's bedroom was open, and through the open door Sebastien could see his family waiting. 

Merrick stood behind Meta, who sat in her usual armchair. She leaned forward, eyes bright and intent and mouth tilted upwards in a fascinated half smile. Merrick was rapt, still for the first time all evening, his hands curled over the back of the chair. He seemed thrilled, which meant nothing good. 

Sebastien moved to the doorway and drew a quick, steeling breath before he pushed his way inside. Meta and Merrick hardly seemed to notice him, and his eyes went to the other chair, the ropes, the wolf, as if drawn forcibly. 

He stopped. His feet refused to move, just like that, the moment he saw Joe. 

He had seen werewolves, of course. He had lived for a long time, and vampires were taught well all about werewolves. He had seen wolves under the full moon, animalistic and howling. 

He had never seen this before. 

The wolf was bulky compared to the human shell it was born from. The ropes that had firmly bound a human body were drawn cruelly tight around now-massive, furred forearms and legs. He had the same shape as other wolves: too human in the face to be a proper animal, but with distended ears and fur and snout and so not anything close to human. 

This wolf was distinct from others Sebastien had seen in one significant way: he was in agony. 

The gleaming eyes – they were yellow now, not brown – leaked tears, blazed in terror and fear and pain so sharp that Sebastien drew in a gasp before he could stop it. 

Something was wrong; it was written all over the wolf's body. Something was seriously wrong, and that was a thinking creature who was in pain. 

Sebastien couldn't help but turn his eyes to his Mother, his brother, to the excitement and cheer on their faces as they watched. 

"Christ, that thing is ugly." 

Sebastien's mouth thinned, and he looked away even as Merrick looked over at him. 

"Isn't it? Should have known, as haggard as he looks the rest of the time." Merrick was all but giggling as he talked. "What was it like? The change?" 

There was a pause. Meta's voice was slow, tight with a note that Sebastien recognized; she was relishing this, everything about it. 

"Slow," was all she said. "Very slow." 

If Meta were interested in letting the wolf live, if she didn't half believe in the things she mocked Tina and the Old World vampires for, she would have built a cage for this wolf and keep him as a pet. Sebastien could tell just from the thrill in her voice. 

"You have been aboveground?" She spoke again without looking away from the wolf. 

"Yes! Just for a little while, enough to watch things start to happen." 

"And?" 

Sebastien watched the wolf as Meta and Merrick talked. The animal's howling had silenced, thankfully, though pain kept those yellow eyes bright. His teeth were bared and he fought the ropes, but he was oddly quiet. 

Almost like he was listening. 

"It's going to happen just as you predicted." Merrick's voice was a trill, happy in a way he hadn't been since Nicky left the underground city. "There are sirens coming from everywhere. I called that human, Celeste's old boyfriend, for an update. He says the cops have picked up a wolf already and are getting calls about more." 

The wolf's head cocked towards Merrick, his eyes fierce, pained. _Not_ the eyes of an animal, yellow or not. 

"You were right, Mother." Merrick didn't notice. Merrick never noticed anything it didn't suit him to notice. “You were right about the whole thing. By morning there will be a hundred wolves dead or in custody and the rest will be on their way out." 

* * *

They didn't save the entire stock. 

Leon winced as glass shattered, distant and dull through the walls and floor that stood between he and Nile and the dozen wolves below them. 

“At least the sounds have stopped,” Nile said, her voice dark. 

Leon let out a sigh, nodding his agreement and taking another swallow of scotch before passing the bottle to the next chair. 

Nile took it fast. “I didn't know it was...I mean, for Joe, do you think he makes that much...noise? Did you ever see...?” She grimaced and shot a deep swallow from the bottle. 

Leon stared ahead blankly, at the mirrored back wall behind rows of bottles. “Years ago. When he was a child, before you were old enough to understand. But he's hidden it from me since he was old enough to get away.” 

Nile shivered. 

Outside of that bar there were frequent sirens, rushing back and forth, coming and going. Leon had no doubt that there was chaos out there, at least for a few dozen werewolves. 

He was halfway convinced that one of the sirens would stop at his door. The wolves were quiet by then, but the change had been so loud. Their _screams_ were so loud, even before the wolves took them over. 

All the wolves hidden so precariously around the city...how many of them screamed that way? How many were heard by too-close humans? 

He hadn't heard from James Copley or his partner all night, but he didn't expect to. They'd be busy, and James wouldn't risk going to the bar. No doubt he realized there might have been things there he'd have to report Leon for, and he was too good a friend to want to do that. 

Below his feet, in his cellar, were a dozen werewolves. Milling around, from the sound of things. Not fighting, not trying to break free. 

Joe had told him once that they didn't retain anything like human minds, but Leon wasn't sure. The wolves under the bar obviously had no compulsion to hunt, to kill, or else they would be howling their fury and trying to break the door down. Fighting with each other, tearing the place apart. 

Instead there was the occasional sound of breaking glass as a bottle or box was jarred from the shelves they didn't clear in time, and little else. 

If it weren't for those screams at the start, Leon would have been able to hope that most of the wolves around the city were safe. 

“It sounds like it hurts,” Nile said. Her voice was stark. "I can't even imagine the kind of pain that causes that sort of noise." 

Leon swallowed. “It was the only time I ever saw him cry,” he said, his voice low, and the memory made him reach for that bottle again. “When he felt it coming. Every month until he started to run.” 

Nile dropped her face into her hands, sagging against the bar. "I've resented him sometimes, so damned much. And this is what he's lived with." 

Leon glanced over. He frowned, his chest aching at the pain written all over his little girl. 

Nile always wanted so badly to just be happy. She deserved to be happy, and Leon couldn't give that to her because he could still hear Francine's voice in his mind, and he couldn't walk away from Joe or his wolves. 

It was a special kind of hell for a father, that he couldn't help one of his children without hurting the other. Nile was the one who had always been there, who didn't run and shout and fight Leon with everything she was, the way Joe did. 

Nile had always needed her father. 

But she didn't need him the way she used to. Leon saw as much earlier, when she took charge and made the choice to keep those wolves there, to keep them safe rather than protecting the bar and themselves. 

Leon sent her a sad smile in the quiet. “You know something, baby?” 

She looked over. 

Leon leaned in, squeezed her arm. “I'm proud of you.” 

Nile smiled back, and it was sad but it was real. “Thanks, dad." 

Even the frail smile didn't last long. Nile looked back towards the front door of the deserted bar, frowning as another siren blazed past on the road outside. 

“You think...wherever he is, is he...?” 

Leon reached for the bottle. He held it up, a toast that would do nothing to settle either of their nerves. "To Joe. Wherever he is." 

Nile took the bottle when Leon offered it, and drank deeply. 

* * *

The change was done. His body was a stranger to him, strong and heavy. His heart beat in a way it hadn't since he first died, steady and regular. 

Everything hurt, and Joe wondered how werewolves could ever play together as easily as they did, when they were born every full moon trembling in a pain that they couldn't understand. 

He could wonder that, even then, because his mind was still his. 

Was it the vampire? The bite? It had to be; it had never happened like this before, not to him or any other wolf he'd ever heard about. If they could keep their conscious minds under the full moon, they wouldn't be dangerous. Or they would be _too_ dangerous. 

The werewolf won the battle for Joe's body, that was obvious. But the wolf was not in his mind. Was Joe running his own head, or was it some vampire version of Joe that was different in some way he couldn't recognize? 

He had no idea, but god help him, he was getting used to having no idea. 

"It's going to happen just as you predicted." Merrick’s voice, rambling on to his smug Mother. To Sebastien. 

They thought Joe was mindless, the way he ought to have been. He was just a scared animal. They had no idea. 

He was bound by painfully tight ropes, but he was a wolf. They had no idea the kind of strength that was in him now. 

Pain wasn't enough to let him break the binds, but now he was calmer, thinking. When it was just fear for himself the adrenaline wasn't enough. Now his entire species was in danger. 

"You were right, Mother. You were right about the whole thing. By morning there will be a hundred wolves dead or in custody and the rest will be on their way out." 

Sebastien was watching Joe and hadn’t looked away yet. His brow was starting to furrow. 

Joe snarled, snapping powerful jaws as if his dumb animal brain had just noticed the fangs there. Sebastien backed up in surprise, and Meta and Merrick both looked back at him. 

Merrick smirked. "I don't think the new dog likes us, mommy." 

The growl Joe loosed was entirely heartfelt. 

Meta rose to her feet. "I think the most exciting part is over. The beast has already lasted longer than I anticipated. I suppose some credit is due for that." 

"You're too generous." Merrick grinned but gripped Meta's arm as she strolled toward the door. "Will you come up with us? Watch the rest of its kind get taken down?" 

"I have calls to make first, but..." 

They left the room behind, and though Joe could hear them if he wanted to listen, he tuned them out. 

Sebastien stood there, unmoving. 

Joe sent a snarl his way for good measure. Fucking fang was the reason he was there, and that wasn't something Joe was going to forget. Still, he would get bored and wander off soon when Joe didn't do any tricks for him. Joe could wait. 

But Sebastien moved in closer instead, once the others were gone. He studied Joe without the thrilled interest of the other two. Joe couldn't tell just what it was he was feeling. 

Joe debated throwing in a few growls, maybe a nice howl, just to play the part. But Sebastien spoke before he could. 

"You can understand me, can't you?" 

Joe bared his teeth, growling, but his nerves flared. If Sebastien saw through the beast act, then he wouldn't leave Joe alone. Fucking know-it-all fang. 

"Can't you?" Sebastien asked again, moving closer to the chair. 

Joe surged against the ropes, claws flickering dully in the dim light of the room. 

"I didn't intend for any of this to happen," Sebastien said, as if Joe's snarls were as good as coherent answers. "I didn't intend to betray both my family and our enemy in the same evening." He sounded more wistful than guilty. 

Joe thought about their talk on the street before Merrick happened on them. There had been real guilt in Sebastien's face as they went back and forth about Meta's plans and how Sebastien could justify hunting an entire race of people based on old fairy tales. 

But his crisis of faith, or conscience, or whatever it was, wasn't anything Joe could help with. It was hard enough for him to manage his own mental state, and from the shit job he did at that it was clear he wasn't fit to help anyone else. 

He stilled in the chair, watching Sebastien, but committed to nothing more than that. 

Sebastien sighed, small and contained. "I have made too many wrong choices tonight. I won't make one more." 

Joe's mouth tried to form a frown, but it was too human an expression on a face that was no longer shaped to handle it. Instead he snarled quietly. 

Sebastien smiled, paper-thin and then gone in an instant. "No, I don't suppose you would see it as the wrong choice. But Meta is my Mother. This is my family. How can I even think of going against them for a person – a _werewolf_ \- that I don't even know? If the stories are right, if you are the one they speak about, then you could destroy everyone I have cared for in my two hundred years as a vampire. If the stories are wrong, if you are not the one, then I would be turning my back simply because I'm...bothered." 

Christ. Joe tried to roll his eyes. That gesture was easier in wolf form, and he thought he managed it. 

He must have come close, anyway, because the fang smiled wryly back at him. He stepped close enough to Joe to be in claw range if his arm were to get free. He didn't seem worried. 

"You were right, you know." Sebastien spoke the words carefully, like they were hard to get out. "You said that the origin stories weren't enough to condemn a modern people to death, and you're right. I love my tribe and my Mother, but we were never killers before these last few weeks. We were never so focused on the destruction of wolves. And now that's changed." He sighed. "But does one single disagreement justify abandoning my family?” 

Joe bared his teeth. 

Sebastien nodded, waving a hand wearily. "Fine. One single huge, very important disagreement." 

If Joe's throat could have formed words, he had about ten different answers for that. Fucking Sebastien, he was the worst of the whole group of them. At least Merrick and Meta treated him like dirt because they believed that's what he was. Sebastien talked to him like a thinking human but cowered from doing anything to help, because he was too scared to turn on his family. 

Joe was many things: he was miserable at times, an alienated growling shit who hurt the few people who cared about him as often as he possibly could because he couldn't even tolerate himself. But he wasn't, and he had never been, a coward. 

Vampires more than anyone should have had some appreciation for how quickly things changed. How soon the most immutable-seeming things in the world could shrivel and decay. Putting dead mythology above living people was a bullshit coward move, and he couldn't do anything but despise Sebastien for knowing that and doing it anyway. 

“ _Damn_ it.” Sebastien drew in a deep breath, and there was a sudden light in his eyes, a new energy. Decision. 

He approached Joe and studied the ropes that bound him to the chair. "I've never heard of a vampire who was changed by a werewolf...but. Just in case, because you have already gone outside the laws of science once...does the scratch of wolf claws change humans into one of you, or is it only the bite?" 

Joe stared at the fang, and it was annoying not being able to frown or wrinkle his brow or do anything at all to get across that he thought Sebastien was a nutcase. He bared his teeth silently. 

"Just the bite," Sebastien interpreted. 

He nodded once, sharp. 

"Good. You can scratch me." 

Joe blinked. 

Sebastien reached out and tested the give on the length of rope stretching across Joe's wrists, from the coils around one arm to the coils around the other. 

He met Joe’s eyes. "This might hurt." 

Joe couldn't breathe. He nodded again fast, and hope was a wrinkled, ugly thing running up and down his chest. 

Sebastien grabbed that stretched length of rope and pulled, hard. 

Joe saw what he intended quickly, as he stretched the rope and what give he could pull from it closer to one side, to Joe's bound hand. 

They would check the rope, after all, and if it wasn't a werewolf's claw that tore it they would suspect. 

Jesus, how could he despise Sebastien and love him so much at the exact same moment? 

He had to give another hard pull - which did hurt, the ropes around his thickened arms digging in that much deeper - before Joe’s claw could stretch far enough to slice into the rope. He sawed at it clumsily for a desperate, too-long minute before it started to fray. 

But it did fray, down to threads, and those threads snapped with a twist of Sebastien's hand. The coils around Joe’s arms gave, and he bent over and hacked into the one around his legs. 

The ropes fell easily once he could get at them straight on. 

Sebastien took a single step back as Joe looked up from the fallen ropes. He didn't run, didn't move. He lifted his chin, his intense brown and red eyes steady on Joe. 

"Vampires scar forever. I would appreciate nothing too awful." 

Joe almost wanted to scoff, but he had to focus on himself and the wolf body enough to get to his feet. His balance was off, his center of gravity wrong. His human mind had never controlled the wolf body, and he had to take a few test steps. 

He moved in, stumbling awkwardly on giant haunches under long feet. He didn't notice during the change, but his shoes had exploded around his feet and stayed behind at the chair, with the tattered remains of his clothes. 

Jesus, if there could have been a worst possible ending to the night it would have included changing back to his own ass-naked body in front of smirking fangs. 

Sebastien didn't move, though there was a kind of muted fear in his eyes. He searched Joe’s face as he moved in, maybe seeking signs of coherent thought that he'd taken for granted when Joe was bound. 

He was brave for a coward. Joe could have done a lot of damage to him, fast, and vampires did scar for life. 

Instead he swiped his hand out, batted at him almost lazily, and left behind jagged gashes in his shirt and only a faint well of blood on the skin beneath. Not enough to mar his precious appearance, but enough that it was believable that he took him by surprise to get away from that room. 

Sebastien flinched at the blow, but swallowed and regained control fast. "Be a monster, it's the only way you'll get out of the underground. There is a crowd outside, make them run from you." 

Joe would have grinned if he could. Instead he dropped down on all fours the way his wolf body was built to move, and he circled to the door and loosed a roar that sounded every bit as wild as he must have looked. 

He launched himself from the room like an explosion. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The full moon comes to an end, and repercussions are felt fast.

Sebastien was right. When Joe erupted through the front door of Meta’s home, leaving it splintered and hanging from a hinge, the small group of fangs that were still standing around scattered in front of him with shouts of alarm. He tore down the lane the way he had come in, sniffing for a source of fresh air and finding a small side entrance. Bursting through without the slightest hint of interruption, he charged up a narrow stone staircase and through an old chained wooden door, and then he was on the surface. 

Right in the middle of downtown, which was the most immediate problem. Far enough from the tourist spots that there were no blazing overhead lights, but the wolf craved open space, trees, soil under his clawed feet instead of gravel and rotting garbage. 

Still, he was himself enough not to give in to the wolf’s urge to run out in search of those things. If there was one benefit to having his mind awake and aware, it was that he could take advantage of alleys and dumpsters, boarded-up buildings and shadows. Things the wolf wouldn’t have worried about. He was trapped in wolf form for the night, which meant that if he was going to be any help to the other wolves in the city, he had to be smart about it. 

He took to all fours, since it was easier to move that way in a body that was balanced completely differently than he was used to. 

Joe made it as far as a cluster of garbage-strewn grass and wilted trees near an underpass of the I-5 before he gave himself a moment to breathe. His body felt as strong and healthy as he had ever been, like he could have charged on for hours without needing a break. But he had been careless, not preparing for the full moon the way he should have. The day of a moon was a feast day for wolves, at least city wolves. The best way to make werewolves placid and less restless was to make sure they came to life with a full stomach and no hunger to drive them. 

Joe hadn’t given any thought to his own transformation. He hadn’t bothered stuffing his face, because he was busy and because, since the bite, he simply hadn’t been hungry. 

The wolf felt unsatisfied, but what went through his body wasn’t hunger, just an all-over sense of something lacking. Maybe the presence of other wolves: the days of his chaining himself in dank basements were gone. Even Joe and his human eyes and his strange scent could change on the island with the others, and the wolf in him wasn’t used to being alone under the moon anymore. 

The moon. 

His eyes went upward as he thought about it, his broad head rising on a neck that was stiffer than he was used to. The overpass was directly overhead, and there were clouds in the night sky. But the glow of the moon was bright all the same, and he paced along the grass to the other side of the overpass, ignoring the strewn garbage, the random shopping cart on its side, the remnants of an old campsite for one of the city’s homeless population. 

The light from the moon was an itch on his skin, his fur, and when he looked up again without the concrete of the highway in the way, he saw it. 

For the first time, his conscious mind took in the full moon. 

There were clouds blocking the edges of it, but the moon showed bright and vivid, white-blue through the atmosphere. Full and round, craggy with shades of darkness. 

That was the thing that ran his entire life. The thing that made wolves dangerous monsters in the eyes of humans. That was what kept them closed behind fences at night like animals in a zoo. That was the curse, right there. 

It was beautiful. He hated it, but he couldn’t take his eyes off it. 

Until the distant sound of sirens somewhere blocks away, further from downtown Seattle, was drowned out by the distinct, vivid howl of a werewolf in distress. 

* * *

He knew the building. Five stories of half-empty office spaces and a basement with illegal housing units built without regard for any kind of housing codes. There were only a couple of wolves living there. Joe had put them there himself, given the tour and everything. It wasn't noticeably different from most of the other places his wolves lived. 

Joe had spent more than a few moons locked in tiny rooms in shithole places like that, chained up or tied down or whatever he could consciously do to himself before the night fell. Not getting caught had been a matter of luck. He'd been careless, and unlike the ones trapped in tiny rooms tonight he had done it out of stupidity, not necessity. 

And now he was huddled in the darkness across the street, watching the doors open on one of those buildings, watching a wolf that he had put in that building being dragged out. Police, four of them in head-to-toe hazard gear, were dragging out a howling, miserable wolf by a stiff lead tight around its neck. The wolf was struggling, but not fighting. Scared. He didn’t understand what the hell was going on or where the people were taking it. 

That wolf would wake up tomorrow on the floor of a cell, chained and shrunken into their normal body, back in their normal mind. And their life would be over. 

Joe had raced to get there, and the wolf inside of him ached to answer those howls by charging to the rescue. But there was a crowd of gawking, terrified humans around that building, and more cop cars pulling up every passing minute. The only thing he would accomplish by charging out there would be his ass ending up in a cell too. 

There was nothing he could do. He had missed his chance, made his mistakes, and this wolf was paying the price. This one and god only knew how many others. 

Meta had won. 

* * *

Nile looked up when she heard slow footsteps overhead. With a twist of complaint shooting down her spine she straightened. 

Around her the storage room was a disaster. Boxes overturned, bottles broken. The sour smell of stale beer was everywhere, and if she could smell it so strongly then the wolves around her were going to all but choke on it when they started waking up. 

Still, if destroyed stores of booze and a ripe stink were the worst consequences of last night, they were all pretty well off. 

She moved across the room, stepping gingerly over glass and sleeping bodies, heading towards the door and the footsteps. 

"Joe? Is that you?" Please God. 

"Oh. Hi, Nile." 

Her half-hearted spark of hope died out. No mistaking that accent. 

Nicky peeked in, looking around with a wince at the havoc the moon left behind. He spotted Nile and smiled, tired but almost as bright as usual. 

"Joe isn't here?" 

“No.” Nile scowled at him. “Not since you showed up yesterday arranging meetings with vampires.” 

Nicky frowned, and his eyes showed worry. “I didn't arrange the meeting. I just delivered the message.” 

“That was enough.” Nile moved past him and dragged herself up the stairs. 

Long night. Too long, and Joe was out there somewhere through the whole thing, because Nicky sent him off to meet with _Sebastien_. 

Nile wasn’t naïve: just because she wanted Sebastien to be different that didn’t mean he was. She sure didn’t want proof to the contrary. Not this kind. Not at the expense of her brother. 

She pushed through the door into the narrow hallway and out into the silent bar. Right up to the coffee pot. 

Nicky moved in behind her, apparently unconcerned by Nile's obvious resentment. "Is everyone else alright? Down there, at least?" 

She grabbed for a cup and bent to get milk from the small fridge under the bar. “Alive and safe, which is more than a lot of people can say this morning, I'm guessing.” 

Nicky sighed, moving around to the front of the bar and sitting on a stool as if he’d been invited. “Have you heard much?” 

Nile scowled. But she wasn't Joe, even on the rare occasion when she was trying to be, so she answered anyway. “Not much. We got a call from a friend of my dad's first thing this morning, a cop. Dad went to meet him somewhere. I know it was bad, but...I think what Joe did before he left helped. I don't think it's nearly as bad as it could have been.” 

“It seemed bad.” 

She shot Nicky a frown. “You were out there?” 

“For a while. I thought...” He smiled. “Joe would laugh at me if he were here, but I thought there might be something I could do. To help, or...” His smile faded. “But there wasn't. And a lot of vampires were on the streets, to watch. I didn't want to...run into anyone I knew,” he finished, his cheeks red. 

Nile let out a breath, turning back as the coffee pot started to sputter. 

Joe was meeting with vampires. Fucking vampires. On the day of the full moon. It wasn't Nicky's fault that her brother was an idiot. It _was_ his fault, though, that Joe went out at all. 

He'd be back. Joe always came back. He left, stomping away like some pissed-off dick, sometimes for months or years at a time. But he always came back. Nile wasn't about to take over his role as the pessimist of the family. She wouldn't think of Joe as dead until she saw the body. 

And since that meant he was alive and well and about to saunter in at any moment, there were a few other things she could let herself worry about. 

She watched coffee pooling in the pot, but after a moment turned and regarded Nicky. 

Nicky wasn't smiling anymore, which was rare. Nile didn't know him at all, but he usually had a smile plastered on his face. It was one of the things Joe seemed to find most irritating about him, but Nile didn't mind it. Most days Nile was glad to see anyone with a smile on their face. 

The worry creasing Nicky's brow was unsettling. For a moment, she wanted to let him know about Joe coming back any minute. She wanted to reassure him. 

But Nicky was still basically a stranger. To Nile and Joe both. 

Joe had dismissed his persistent presence as insanity, or whatever. Greed, gratitude. Nile had laughed at him for that, for being so cynical that the obvious truth about Nicky’s interest in him was so unbelievable to him. 

Nile remembered clearly the other night, when she went out with Joe and ran across Sebastien and the other fang. She could remember how angry he got when she brought up Nicky. Nile knew Joe as well as anyone in the world could, and she knew there was something under that anger. Something dark, something that embarrassed Joe to even think about. 

She focused on Nicky again. His eyes, blue and huge, were already on Nile. 

"You need to stop what you're doing to Joe." 

Nicky seemed surprised, his brow furrowing. "What am I doing to him?" 

"You know exactly what I mean." He was innocent, but Nile doubted Nicky was stupid. "The flirting, the insistence that you like him. It's pointless, and more importantly, it bothers him." 

Nicky glanced at the door, as if Joe might show up at that exact moment after being missing all night. He hesitated, looking back at Nile with worried eyes. "I know it bothers him." His fingers came out, sliding back and forth over the uneven stone of the bar top. "I wish it didn't." 

"Why?" Nile moved up to him, her hands bracing against the edge of the bar as she faced Nicky down. "He gets that you're grateful. You don't have to prove anything to him." 

He didn't miss a beat. "I love him." 

Neither did Nile, though she did blink her surprise. "That's ridiculous." 

Nicky hesitated at that, again looking puzzled. "Why?" 

"Because. One, you just met him. You know nothing about him, which I know because I'm as close to him as anyone can be and I hardly know anything about him anymore. And two, what little you do know can't be all that appealing." 

Nicky tilted his head, studying her. 

Nile frowned. "You think maybe he's just tough on the surface, and somewhere there's some heart of gold you can dig out of him. Is that it? People aren't like that, Nicky. He comes across like a miserable jerk because that's what he is. He won't change, especially not for some _pet_." 

He let out a puff of breath that Nile realized in a moment was laughter. "You two have that in common, anyway." 

"What?" Nile almost flushed, though, when she realized. “Well? That's what you are, right?” 

Nicky ignored the question; he didn't seem all that offended either way. "You talk about him like he's a monster. I can be attracted to him, and I am. He's smart, and strong, and he died for me. He _died_ , Nile." 

Nile looked away from him, going to the counter and checking on the brewing coffee. “I'm sure he didn't mean to.” 

Nicky laughed. “Probably not.” 

Nile frowned back at him. “You're a good-looking guy who used to be a Devoted. There are a thousand other people you could get with any time you wanted. Plenty of young, good-looking humans.” 

“Of course there are. But they can't compare to Joe.” Nicky smiled, his eyes glowing in the dim light over the bar. "You talk like he's horrible, but he isn't. He's _beautiful_ . He's survived a lot, and that shows all over him. He's not _nice_ , I guess, but what does that matter? I'm nice enough for two people.” 

"You're crazy," Nile said. 

"No." Nicky leaned in, arms resting on the bar. He spoke earnestly, as if it was important that Nile believe his stupid notions. "I'm beautiful." 

Nile blinked at him, raising an eyebrow sardonic enough to make Joe proud. 

Nicky waved a hand. "I mean. I am. It's always been there. I've spent most of my life surrounded by beautiful humans and beautiful vampires." 

She rolled her eyes, turning away as the coffee maker chugged to a stop. 

“You're beautiful yourself, Nile, easily good enough to be underground if you wanted to. You’re stunning, and usually nice to me, and I don't discriminate between genders. But I wouldn't even _notice_ you if Joe were here right now.” 

Worst thing was she believed him. She believed that he believed it, anyway. That he was somehow magically in love with her brother, just like that. 

Maybe Joe believed it too. Maybe that’s why it hurt him to even talk about Nicky. 

She sighed. "You know how Joe feels, though.” 

Nicky frowned. “How does he feel?” 

“Someone like you doesn't belong with someone like him." 

"How could he possibly know that? There's never been anyone like him." 

"For god's _sake_." Nile grabbed the coffee pot, irritated and jumping on it maybe a little too readily, since arguing about this guy's 'love' for Joe was a thousand times easier than worrying about where Joe was or how he possibly could have survived the night before. 

"It doesn't matter either way,” she said, grabbing a mug from the overhead shelf and dumping some coffee in. “Even if you could talk him into believing you're serious, he isn't interested. And if by some miracle he was interested, he would ditch you in a day. He'd imagine up some offense, or decide he's got better things to do, or just change his mind for no reason, and he'll up and go. That's how Joe is." 

Nicky answered slowly. "You talk like you hate him. But I know you don't. I can tell." 

Nile turned back to him so fast that a good quarter of the coffee in the mug sloshed onto the mat at her feet. "He's my brother. I'm allowed to hate him, because I love him. I know who he is, which is more than you can say. He's an ass and he can be cruel.” She marched over to the bar, feeling fierce. “But he has gotten a lot of shit dumped on him, and I won't stand back and watch while you dump more, well-meaning or not." 

Nicky studied her, solemn again. 

Nile stood straight, facing him head-on. "Every time he gets hurt me and my dad are the only ones he has to help him pick up the pieces. I have some say in this, damn it." 

Nicky swallowed. "I wouldn't hurt him." 

"You already have." Nile set the half-empty cup in front of him with an audible thunk. “You do just by coming here, talking like you two have some chance. That _hurts_ him.” She hesitated, but though it might have been a breach of confidence she went on – she wasn't telling Nicky anything Joe had said outright, anyway. Just things Nile worked out in her own head. "I think he sees you as a chance he might have had if he was anyone else.” 

Nicky looked up at that. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean, you're this attractive, nice guy. And Joe, he...” She sighed. “He thinks he's broken. Like irreparably broken. And maybe he is, I don't know. But you. You're the kind of good thing that might have happened to him if he hadn't broken, if his life had gone easier. You don't get it, you and all the beauty you've been surrounded by. You don't understand the real world. And he's never been allowed to believe in fantasies.” 

Nicky sighed, reaching for the coffee cup and curling his hands around it. “You think I'm naïve, and in some ways I am. But I know things about reality that most people don't.” 

“Really.” Nile frowned, unimpressed. 

Nicky pinned her with a surprisingly intent look. “My father is dead and my mother is mindless. I'm recovering from an addiction as strong as any drug, and my mind is half gone from it. I have so little in the way of skills or knowledge that I sell my body for money to live day to day.” 

Nile turned away from him, going to make herself a cup of coffee to hide the discomfort that must have shown on her face. 

Nicky went on, soft and intent. “I know what Joe thinks of me. I know what you think. I'm ridiculous. I'm optimistic and silly and I sound young and foolish when I talk. There’s nothing about me that anyone might want except my pretty face and my body. Maybe I'm just an ex-pet, but I know who I am." 

"You looking for consolation? Argument?" Nile heard herself and frowned. She was being cruel, needlessly, only because she needed to take some stress out on someone. 

She was more like Joe than she wanted to admit sometimes. 

She took up her cup of coffee and faced Nicky to apologize. 

Nicky met her gaze and spoke before she could. "You seem to be a great person, Nile. You love your family and you help those wolves and you're strong. I know you want Joe to be okay. So do I. If you really think he could never feel anything for me, then…” His throat worked. “Then I’ll leave him alone. But I don't owe any apologies to anyone for who I am or how I feel.” 

* * *

“Five wolves.” 

Sebastien hid a wince as Meta slammed the phone down onto the receiver and stared out. She was furious, had been since that first phone call after sunrise, and it seemed it was only going to get worse. 

“Five wolves,” she said again, meeting Sebastien's eyes. Her voice was soft, almost gentle, and with Meta softness was a dangerous thing. “There are dozens of those creatures in the city. I know it. Maybe hundreds.” She sat back, eyes shutting for a moment. “The police captured _five_.” 

“They had more warning than they should have,” Sebastien said, an acquiescence that he didn't entirely feel like making. “You said that the police were watching the bridge the day before the moon. It gave them time to realize what was happening and plan around it.” 

“That is not the point!” Her eyes snapped open. “It doesn't matter why things are ruined; they are ruined all the same! Five werewolves are not enough to see them all removed! Five is hardly a seething mass of illegal monsters. I cannot inspire hatred and fear in those idiot humans using five pathetic worn-out creatures yanked from feeble hiding spots during the full moon.” 

Sebastien frowned. He ached at seeing his Mother so distressed, as he feared to see Meta, the strong leader of a strong tribe, in such a rage. The son in him wanted to console his Mother, the vampire wanted to help his leader. 

In his mind, though, in the place where he was still the Sebastien he was before he was ever changed, he was relieved. 

Werewolves hid for two reasons: to keep from getting caught, and to keep from being found. Sebastien knew the difference in those two things, where someone like Merrick would never have understood. It was the difference between protecting themselves and protecting other people from what they themselves might do in their wolf forms. 

If they were the monsters without empathy that they were believed to be, they would have filled the streets last night. If they were angry and mindless creatures they would have burst from their hiding spots once the moon overtook them, and many more than five would have been captured. 

Instead, they hid. They were scared, like Joe last night had been scared, and hurting. If Sebastien realized that, then there had to be humans out there who would realize it too. 

It was galling to realize, in the shadow of Joe’s wolf eyes and intent arguments, that Sebastien had never really considered whether werewolves deserved the lives they were forced to live. He had always lost himself in the pursuit of science and fact and hard knowledge, rather than bothering with social or political issues. 

But something was different. One single wolf had looked him in the eye and said he was wrong. That wolf dared him to prove his own point, to support his beliefs with argument. And Sebastien, who always valued facts about everything else, could come up with nothing in response. 

He hated this endless looping of thoughts he’d been stuck in since then, these arguing emotions doing battle in his mind. It made his response to Meta – which would have been the same no matter what – a little sharper than he intended. 

“Five wolves are what you have. Will you try to make something of them, or have you truly failed in your plans?” 

Meta rose to her feet, her expression dangerous. “My plans do not fail,” she said, the words flat and quiet and so dangerous Sebastien could feel his skin prickle. 

“If you want them to succeed then you have to work with what has happened. Angering yourself about it serves no practical purpose.” 

“It was that wolf.” Meta moved around her desk and past Sebastien's chair, pacing restlessly up and down the space behind her son. “I know it. The look in his eyes when he said that the wolves would survive just as well without him. He made this happen. He ruined my night.” 

“How could he do that?” Sebastien answered. “He was here most of the day and night.” 

“Most of.” Meta snorted, a strangely harsh and graceless sound coming from her. “If that wolf is any sort of real threat, he wouldn't need an entire day and night to interfere. He set things into motion. I have no doubt of that.” 

“You’re angry because he escaped me.” 

“No. I am angry because he has plagued this family since the day we became aware of him.” Meta moved around Sebastien's chair, the look in her eyes fierce. 

But when she regarded Sebastien her eyes were on his chest, on the peek of bandages through the neck of his shirt. 

She reached out and lay her hand on Sebastien's head, the touch gentle enough to barely even stir his hair. “He hurt you. He tore into Merrick's throat. He has mocked us, mocked me, and now he has escaped to do it again.” 

Sebastien couldn't respond to that. He couldn't face the anger in his Mother's eyes and think that some of that anger was on his behalf. He couldn't add that sort of guilt to his already conflicting feelings. 

“This wolf, Sebastien...” She spoke softly, more air than sound. “He has to pay for this. For every injury he has done us, every failure, every scar.” 

Sebastien's throat worked, but he met her gaze. “If you change the plans you’ve been working towards for years simply to focus on getting revenge on one wolf, you cannot succeed.” 

“You underestimate me,” she answered simply. 

Sebastien frowned, rising to his feet the moment her cool touch left his hair. “Mother. Your plans have always focused on improving things for us. For your tribe, your family. Revenge is so petty compared to that.” 

Meta regarded him. She didn't answer right away. 

He pressed the advantage, reaching out and laying his hand on her arm. “Think about _us_ , not about the wolves. The tribe is what matters, right? We depend on you, we need you to stay focused on us. Please.” 

For a moment, as he watched, the anger drained from her eyes. Her brow creased. For a moment she listened. 

Then the silence was broken, and her focus was stolen from Sebastien. 

“We've brought you a present.” 

Sebastien frowned toward the voice, to the doorway where his brother now stood. 

Merrick smiled, cold and careless. His manic energy had died when Joe escaped. “It isn't what you most wanted,” he went on, his eyes on Meta, “but you may find it useful.” 

She left Sebastien's side, her thoughtfulness melting away. 

Merrick left the doorway, leading his Mother somewhere down the hall beyond. 

Sebastien would have cursed at the interruption if he were anyone else, but there was no sense in getting angry. She was still reachable; he knew that now. Sebastien could get through to her. 

Sighing, wiping his face of the tiring strain of keeping so many troubled thoughts to himself, Sebastien moved to the doorway and followed Merrick and Meta, wondering what sort of 'present' Merrick had. He doubted it was anything good. 

And he was right. 

Outside the doorway to their home, offering their present, were a handful of the tribe. They were proud, none prouder than Merrick, as they held tightly to the figure in their middle. 

He looked weary and terrified, a striking black man with high cheekbones and tattered rags instead of clothes. When he looked up, the frightened eyes that locked on Meta were unmistakably yellow. 

* * *

"James?" Leon had to wait a moment, to reassure himself that the bloodied and haggard figure slouched in the corner of the sterile white waiting room was his old partner. 

James looked up, eyes focusing on Leon. No nod, no smile, no greeting. 

Leon moved in, frowning around at the bland furniture and Currier and Ives prints on the walls, and the endless piles of Newsweek on tables covered in fake plants. 

He hated hospitals. He had to visit more than once when Joe was a hyper kid who thought he could fly. Broke the same arm twice before he was ten years old, that kid. He’d always healed too fast to learn to be careful. 

Last time Leon spent any real time in a hospital was after the accident. Sitting in a room with his leg in traction, with a strangely quiet infant Nile and a hollow-eyed Joe, waiting to hear about how badly his life had just ended. How Francine was never coming back to them. 

He hated hospitals. 

But it was James Copley who asked him to come, and Leon couldn't refuse his old friend much. 

Leon moved in, his focus going to James now that he'd made himself good and depressed. 

"Looks like you've had a long night," he said, careful to keep his voice neutral. It would be a joke, a razz between old friends, any other time. But James had dried blood cracking on his hands, and his eyes were weary. 

"How're your kids?" James asked instead of answering, his voice strange. Expectant. 

The other thing Leon didn't want to think about right then. He moved in and slid into the plastic chair beside James. "Nile is exhausted, we stayed up most of the night listening to everything happening outside. Joe..." 

James tensed, almost unnoticeable, and Leon realized that when he said 'kids' he meant Joe. 

His frown deepened. "Joe was busy." 

James sat up straight, twisting in his chair until he was piercing Leon with his eyes. "You tell me the truth, Leon. If you've got any kind of respect for me, for all the years we've known each other, you tell me the truth right now and damn the consequences: has Joe been attacking people on the full moons?" 

"What?" The grave lead-up to that question wasn't even enough to brace Leon. “ _What_?" 

James didn't look away. 

Leon had to swallow, to look down at the blood on James's hands to keep from letting anger rush over him. "You can't tell me that's what you've been thinking the last full moons. You can't tell me you think it was Joe." 

"Who else could it be?" 

The night was too long, and Joe was still missing, and Leon had a lot of respect for James but not that kind. Not the kind that would let James go after his kids. Especially not when Joe was already in danger. 

"You know as well as I do that there's no way to tell. You damn well know that there are more wolves in this city than Joe." 

"Those other wolves are scared, and they should be. They wouldn't ever risk what this one wolf is risking. Joe hates people, and he's got courage to be living the way he does. Of course he’s the top of the list to do something like this. Stop with the outrage and answer the question." 

Leon wanted to stand, to leave. To calm down, let James calm down, and maybe come after this whole issue some other time. But he didn't. He was too old for some scared avoidance bullshit. 

He met James's eyes. "No. It isn't Joe. It hasn't ever been Joe, and it won't ever be. And if you ever ask me something like that again..." 

James held his gaze for a long moment. He nodded once, terse, and looked away. He looked down at his hands, squeezing dirty, stained fingers into loose fists. 

Leon sat back, looking out past James at the calmness of the waiting room. Maybe it was hectic there last night, but it was calm now. Daytime, deserted. 

"Whoever it is got three different people last night." 

Leon looked over at James again. 

James stared at his hands. "He's getting worse. I don't know if it was all the shit going on last night, maybe the fucking thing got...scared, or excited, or who the hell knows what. But he bit three different people in one night." 

"Anyone dead?" Leon asked. 

James snorted. "As good as, all three of them. The first two were hardly hurt, just the bite. A quick bandage and some antibiotics, and the city sent this weasel from county, from werewolf services, in to tell them all about their shitty new lives before they were even allowed to see their fucking families." 

James didn't curse at the drop of a hat. Leon studied his profile, wondering. Something had him tense, and mad. 

James went on after a moment, his fingers curling and relaxing repeatedly. "They get a week. You know that? When a person gets bitten, when the doctors confirm that it was a wolf, they get a week to say goodbye to everyone they know, pack their bags, and uproot themselves. They get assigned some shitty apartment on Whidbey Island and they have a work assignment within a week, and that doesn't make any god damned sense to me." 

Leon and James had had that argument before. James was usually on the other side of it. 

Leon wasn't in the mood to play devil's advocate and take James's usual position, so he just sighed. "You think we don't realize it? How senseless it is? Andy..." He hesitated. 

James was still tense, still inside his own head somewhere, but he nodded. "The one from the radio." 

"It happened to her," Leon went on. "Because she got hurt one night, this scared young woman, she's suddenly an outcast. There are dozens of them, James. Most wolves are born, they're pack wolves, but there are dozens on Whidbey who were human once. We've always known how screwed up it is, blaming a victim for being hurt. Ruining their lives because they got attacked by the wrong person." 

James shook his head, drained and looking older than Leon had ever seen him. "I wish it was Joe," he said, hoarse from exhaustion. 

Leon pinned him instantly with a sharp look. 

James leaned in, rubbing his tired face in his hands. The blood staining his skin was so old it didn't come off. "I wish it was Joe because at least I'd know who to go after." 

Leon swallowed. He studied James carefully, considering. It was a long night, obviously, and three victims meant a hell of a headache for the cops, for the mayor and people like Leon who support the wolves in his city. 

But James didn't get that emotional over wolves. 

Something occurred to Leon as he considered things. "You said the first two victims were hardly hurt." 

James straightened. He looked over at Leon again, and his eyes were stark. And he was alone, Leon realized. Bloody, at the end of a shift, and alone. 

Leon had a sudden sinking feeling. "What about the third one?" 

Behind the desk where bored nurses sat the door slid open. Like some act of Hollywood timing, a scrubbed doctor stepped out and surveyed the waiting room. He bent to exchange murmurs with the nurse and then headed around the desk and right towards them. 

Leon predicted the doctor’s words before he even opened his mouth, and he hated it when he was right. 

"Detective. You're here about Richard Keane?" 

* * *

The wolf sagged in the chair, an awkward, blunt heap, boneless where he died. 

Meta sat in her armchair again, calm, regarding the creature. 

She wasn't surprised that the wolf died. She didn't put any stock in the idea that wolves were growing some sort of immunity to venom, despite the one who had survived Merrick. She felt no pangs of conscience about the matter: the wolf refused to talk, and when someone held back information that threatened her family, Meta lashed out and didn't regret it for a moment. 

"Mother?" 

She looked over. 

In the doorway to her study, Merrick looked from her to the wolf. He smiled. "So the night wasn't a complete waste?" 

Meta rose to her feet, stretching. She felt too strong to sit there, idle. Werewolves had the most potent blood, and this one had a great deal of it. 

“The creature told me nothing,” she admitted, for the most part unconcerned. 

He moved in, his eyes on the torn throat of the body in the chair. “Is it still fresh?” 

She smiled and gestured an invitation to sample the leftovers. 

When Merrick left the doorway, it darkened again with the taller, broader form of his brother. 

Meta didn't miss the frown already on Sebastien's face, and she could hardly help but notice the shock that lit in his eyes when he saw what Merrick was crouching over. The sight of that shock made her smile fade. 

She really had to be more careful with Sebastien. He was prone to thinking dark thoughts. Reaching rash conclusions. 

"Tell me what you know," she said, turning her back on Sebastien and regarding Merrick, who would not hesitate to answer. 

Merrick's eyes were dilated in hunger – he had tasted wolf blood recently, she remembered. He knew its power, and he wanted more. Understandable. But he answered her instantly instead of indulging himself. 

"There are only five in jail. We were right about the number. The cops were all over the place, though. There are dozens of recorded calls, panicked people hearing things once word got out that there were wolves in the city." 

Panic in the streets. That was something. Meta nodded. "Good. That's what they'll remember most about last night. The terror." 

"I've got something better,” Merrick said, glancing over Meta's shoulder toward the silent form of his brother. “That wolf that's been biting people the last few moons, he was out again. At least they figure it’s the same one, since the ones they arrested were all hiding out.” Merrick beamed at Meta, the wolf and its blood forgotten for a moment. "Wait until I tell you who he turned." 

She waited, smiling despite her anger at the light in Merrick's eyes. The boy had been too distracted and depressed lately. 

Merrick grinned. "A cop! Haven't heard who it is yet, Celeste's little boyfriend hasn't picked up the last couple of times I've called." 

She considered that. It was a good thing, Merrick was right. It would make other police more eager to hunt down the rest of the wolves in the city. 

"Come on!" Merrick took her arm. "It was a great night! Everything that you said would happen did!" 

"That's no surprise. But it happened on too small a scale." She glanced at Sebastien. "You found no trace of my wolf?" 

"No." Sebastien didn't meet her eyes. His gaze skittered to the body in the chair. 

Meta frowned, studying his profile. "Then that's what we focus on now. Find that wolf, then my plans have no more bumps to disturb them." 

Sebastien looked back at her, his brow furrowed. 

Meta met his gaze. "Do you question my orders?" 

"No." Sebastien moved to them, his steps heavy. "Not your orders. But…Meta, we're set. We've done everything you wanted. It wasn't as big as you thought it would be, but you can easily make your plans fit around what's happened. It will take more effort, that’s all.” He hesitated, looking at the body in the chair. “You'll get the wolves thrown out either way. Why…?" 

She laughed, surprised. "Why kill him? Sebastien, he was a criminal. He was out on the street like the others. He refused to tell me what I needed to know." 

"You said we were going to arrest them, not kill them." 

"You _are_ questioning me." 

Sebastien blinked, his eyes drawing back to her as if he just realized what he was admitting to. He spoke slowly, neither agreement nor argument. "Before that brown-eyed wolf showed up, you only talked about our future. Now you're obsessed with theirs. You’re losing sight of what was once the only thing that mattered to you." 

Meta moved in, taking his arm. Her eyes stayed steady on Sebastien, and her troubled, too smart son didn't flinch or look away. 

"Listen to me. In a matter of weeks, I will have a position of real power in this city. The wolves will no longer be a concern. We will be safe. Do you realize that? We will be _safe_ , and it will spread from us to the next city over and the next. Vampires will no longer ever have to worry about torches, beheadings. Witch hunts." 

Sebastien's voice was hoarse. "We don't worry about that now." 

"Because humans think well of us now. But suppose a daywalker gains a seat of power. Suppose those churches that burn our images during the days begin to spring up at night, and people one by one start to listen. We're here at the whim of humans, and that is intolerable. Give me a month and I will see new laws created, laws that they won't simply be able to change their minds about." 

Sebastien nodded slowly. 

"Give me a year and I will own this city. My tribe will be untouchable, no matter how the whims of humans change." She squared her jaw, her chin high. "If a wolf must die to see that day, I will kill it without a moment of hesitation. This wolf with human eyes is the last threat to my plans, and I will see him stopped." 

"Why is he such a threat? I don't understand." 

"The wolves here center around him. The Primul Născut fear the idea of him. With him out of the way and me the one to thank for it, even that ancient culture of molding vampires will not be able to step in and affect our place here." 

"Meta." 

They both turned to Merrick. 

"You want the wolf, and I know how to find him." 

She waited. 

"Nicky." 

“No.” Sebastien stepped back, away from Meta and Merrick. "This isn't what we're supposed to be doing." 

"I know, you think I'm obsessed." Merrick grinned. "And I am, a little. I do want him. But." His eyes went to Meta. "He knows this wolf personally. He knows where he lives, knows how to contact him. And Nicky is no defiant werewolf. He is human. A particularly weak human at that." 

She frowned, thoughtful. 

"I can make him tell us, without a single raised hand. I won't lie, I intend to keep him once you've learned what you need. But Sebastien knows as well as I do that the two of them are friends." 

"No." Sebastien reached out, grasping her arm and her attention. "No, this is too much. He’s talking about threatening humans now, and you're the one who told us how important it is that we never do that." 

She brushed his hand away. "Does Nicky know the wolf?" 

"Merrick wants his favorite Devoted back, you know that's what this is. Nicky _left_ , Meta. And we have never forced a human to let us feed. You're talking about kidnapping an innocent human." 

Merrick smiled innocently. "He'll want to be here when I'm done." 

"Once you've drugged him again." 

"Like it's a bad life I'm threatening him with. He had it ten times better down here than he'd ever have--" 

Meta lifted her hands. "Enough." 

They fell silent, and both boys turned her way. 

She found herself studying Sebastien, unsurprised at the objections but increasingly worried about the motivation behind them. She then turned to Merrick, not blind to the strange obsession with his old pet. 

Doubts and obsessions aside, the only question that mattered was: would it get her the Kaysani wolf back? 

She looked to her children, choice quickly made. "Bring me the pet." 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day after the full moon goes on. Somehow in the midst of the chaos things go very, very right between Joe and Nicky. Then they go wrong again.

He'd been forgotten about, but Nicky wasn't about to complain. These people didn't like him, didn't consider him one of them, and so reminding them that he still sat there at the bar, in the corner, would have just shut them up. 

The werewolves had left maybe a half an hour ago, trudging out in small groups. Tired and hurting and heading for work all the same. Nobody was sure what the day would bring for wolves, because no one was entirely sure of everything that happened last night. 

The television was on behind the bar, solemn-faced people behind some news desk showing footage of now empty city streets, interviewing pale humans who spoke excitedly at the camera. But the volume was low and Nicky couldn't follow what was happening. 

He didn't try, because the quiet conversation on the other side of the bar was more interesting. 

“He's got to stay in the hospital for a few days. The wolf that did this to him took a chunk out of him, his arm and shoulder...” Leon Freeman was drained and sad-looking. Like everyone else that day, it seemed. “James thinks Keane put up more of a fight than the other victims did. Keane's a big guy and he's trained, so I don't doubt he tried to fight the wolf. Probably tried to bring him in even after he tore into him.” 

Nile still looked tired and angry, and it didn't sit well on her lovely features. “This is gonna go so badly.” She cradled her third cup of coffee in her palms tightly. “Bad enough that three people got hurt, but a cop being one of them...the other cops in this city are going to get a thousand times worse.” 

Leon nodded, grave. “I almost let James have it for talking about Joe the way he was, but...hell. If I knew who it was biting people like this, I'd probably go after them myself at this point. This more than anything is hurting any chances these wolves have. This is what the wolves the cops arrested last night are going to pay for.” 

There was a pause in the conversation, a heaviness that settled over the two of them. 

Nicky sighed to himself, glancing back at the television. 

He was glad that he knew about all this now. He was glad that what happened with Merrick one night in an alley had opened him up to this whole amazing world with these brilliant people. But they were all so weighed down, so serious and sad all the time. 

Nicky wasn't the devout genius he had been as a child, but he didn’t like to see people hurting. Especially good people. Still, he knew perfectly well that he couldn't be any help to them. That was a hard thing to accept. 

The heavy front door of the bar pushed open suddenly, letting in a dusty slice of sunlight from outside. A figure trudged in, moving slow and bowed like the weight of the whole universe was on their shoulders. Nicky recognized him at once, and the hand squeezing his heart for the last twenty-four hours finally loosened its grip.

“Oh, Jesus. Joe!” Nile was around the bar in a flash, crossing to the door and rushing to Joe's side. 

Leon moved more slowly, but his relief was no less sincere for being quieter. “Thank God.” 

Joe silently returned Nile's hug. Stiff, like his body wasn't used to the strange act of hugging, but he patted Nile's back and nodded out at Leon as he approached. 

He was...different. 

Nicky wasn't acknowledged back in his corner, and he wasn't so tacky that he'd push his way into the family's reunion to try to get his own greeting in, so he had the distance and time to really study Joe. 

Something happened last night. Something changed in him. 

He seemed...it was almost absurd to think it, the way Joe moved like his limbs were a thousand pounds heavier than they should have been, but he seemed less tired. Less haggard. 

His face, Nicky realized. His skin. He had the poreless, smooth look of a real vampire. It took about five years off him, the weary lines of exhaustion and shadows all melted away. His skin kept its rich brown shade, so he didn't look much like most of Meta’s porcelain-skinned vampires. But he could have been one all the same. 

It was alarming. It made Nicky feel oddly tense. 

Leon said something to his kids, too quiet for Nicky to hear, and as Joe pulled away from Nile Leon reached out to him. He almost touched Joe's face, obviously seeing what Nicky saw. 

He hugged Joe a moment later, hard, and Nicky looked away from them for a moment to give them some privacy. 

He smiled to himself then. Changed or not, Joe was there. He was alive and he looked unharmed. There were a lot of bad things happening but that was a good thing, and Nicky could celebrate it, quietly, along with the small family. 

There was a quiet gasp from the group, and Nicky looked back over instantly. They were still studying Joe, scouring him for injuries or something, but Nile's focus stopped on his face. 

There was some distance between Nicky and Joe, and the bar was dimly lit. But Nicky's eyes were used to living in darkness, and he could see a change he hadn't noticed a minute ago. 

It became even more obvious after Nicky breathed in his own sharp gasp, and Joe suddenly noticed him and looked right at him. 

His skin was smooth and clear like a vampire. But his eyes... 

His eyes were _yellow_. 

It eased some of Nicky's tension: Joe was a werewolf still. The vampire bite hadn't completely overpowered him. The brown human-looking eyes he was born with had been replaced by clear, honeyed yellow. 

Joe looked back at him for a long moment, but he didn't say anything to him, and Nicky turned away from his quiet study and faced the television again. 

He listened, though. 

“Are you going to tell us?” 

“Tell you what?” Joe's voice hadn't changed, thankfully. Still a grumble, hoarse from the long night he had yet to recover from. 

“What happened? Where you've been?” Nile's questions were less sharp than they might have been, and Nicky thought she might have still been in some shock at the way her brother looked. 

“It's not important. Tell me what you know about last night. How many did I abandon to the humans?” 

Nicky sneaked a look back, and frowned at the worry and the bite of self-hatred on Joe's face. 

Joe moved away from his family, approaching the bar, but Nile and Leon were right behind him. 

“We can talk about all that in a minute. Joe, for God's sake, we've been thinking you were dead all night, you can't tell us...” 

“It doesn't matter! I was where I was. I know I should have been here. I know I shouldn't have left. I just want to know how many people paid for my mistakes!” 

“Joe...” Leon then, soft and low. Nicky could hear his own long-dead father in that voice, stern and loving and worried. He watched them, intruding but unable to stop. 

It wasn't anger on Leon's face, or on Nile's. It was just worry. Maybe Joe was used to deflecting their questions with his anger, but it wasn't happening that morning. Not after what they had all been through. 

Joe seemed to realize that after a moment. He slumped into a bar stool, and he might have looked different but his body still moved as heavily and gracelessly as ever. 

“I was underground.” He hesitated, then pushed up the sleeves of his tattered jacket. 

“Jesus.” 

Nicky couldn't see well from his seat at the other end of the bar, but he could see enough. He could see dark, damaged lines of skin up Joe's wrists. He had been bound, it looked like, bound against something that he fought against, hard. 

“Sebastien did this to you,” Nile said, and there was something strangely lost in those words. As if this lovely young human somehow knew Meta's second-favored son. 

Nicky couldn't focus on that, though, since the words themselves hit him in the gut, sharp and hot, and the flood of guilt threatened to make him gasp again and draw their focus. Sebastien had done it, which meant that Nicky had helped make it happen. 

Joe spoke hesitantly. “Merrick. And Meta. Sebastien's the reason I got away.” 

Nile frowned back at him. 

“It's not...there's no point going over it all. Can you just tell me...” Joe trailed off, pushing his sleeves back over his damaged wrists. 

Leon and Nile shared a look over his head. 

Leon spoke softly. “The news says some wolves were caught, but they won't give a solid number. It wasn't many.” He lay a hand on Joe's shoulder. “I don't think it was many at all. It was nothing like Meta planned for.” 

Joe looked up at him, and for a moment he looked exactly like a kid listening to his dad's words, holding on to them tight, wanting to believe each one. That expression along with the smoothing of the hard lines in his face made him look softer than Nicky had ever seen. Overwhelmed. Vulnerable. 

God, Nicky was in love with this man. 

“Most of them were safe, Joe. Only a couple were pulled from hiding places, and they were on their own so I don't think they're the hiding places you found for them. Though, at least one was...” Leon frowned. He and Nile exchanged looks.

Joe's bare hope seemed to dim fast. “What happened that you don't want to tell me?” 

“That one wolf was out again. The one Andy thinks is a hero.” 

“Shit.” Joe dropped his elbows on the bar, rubbing his tired face. 

“He attacked Richard Keane.” 

Joe stilled, pulling his face from his hands and peering at Leon. “Copley’s partner?” 

Leon nodded. 

Joe swallowed. “A cop.” 

He didn't need them to say out loud how much trouble the wolves would suffer for that. It was all over his face that he already knew. He had already jumped ten steps ahead, already thinking about the absolute worst as if it was inevitable. 

Nicky himself had always been something of an optimist. That didn't seem to be a common trait these days. 

Joe nodded after a moment, short and terse. “What else?” 

Another pause, another exchanged look between Nile and Leon. 

Nile sighed. “I have a feeling your latest recruit was one of the ones arrested.” 

“Latest...” Joe frowned. “You mean Lykon? The new wolf?” 

Nicky turned in his chair, facing them more obviously. He met Lykon. Lykon was nice. 

Nile nodded. “He showed up here before sunset, looking for Andy. Said some of the Whidbey wolves were asking after her. Went tearing out again after five, trying to find her. I talked to her this morning, though, she was on the island the whole time.” 

Joe took that in with a slow nod. He scratched shaking fingers through his curls, and down his beard, looking utterly drained. 

“Need a drink?” Nile asked him after a moment, smiling a little but the question seemed serious. 

Joe let out a breath, looking at Leon in answer. “Need me to work? You two look exhausted.” 

“We can afford to close the place down for one day. We're all exhausted, and I get the feeling most of our regulars are going to stay close to home today. Andy can handle the fallout for a few hours on her own. Besides...” He hesitated. “Joe, have you even seen yourself this morning?” 

“Seen myself?” Joe frowned, but shook his head. 

Leon glanced back at the mostly covered mirrored wall behind the bar, but hesitated. “Come on. Let's lock the door and go up. We all need to rest and you might want a little privacy.” 

Joe slid off the bar stool. He flashed a faint, tight smile. “If you don't need me here, I'm gonna back to my place. I could use a little...distance, let everything kind of settle down in my head.” He shrugged, almost apologetic. 

Leon nodded after just the slightest pause. “Might want to get back here by this afternoon. I'm sure Andy's going to have some things to say about last night.” 

“No shit.” Joe grimaced. He reached across the bar and slapped Nile's arm lightly. “I'll come back.” 

“I owe you a punch in the face for leaving yesterday, so...” She flashed a watery smile. “Make sure you've got your tough-guy pants on when you come back, I’d hate to make you cry.” 

Joe snorted. “If I even notice your little skinny arm coming at me, I might laugh myself to tears.” 

Nile grinned. 

Joe turned to head for the door, but stood still for a moment. When he turned his head, it was Nicky he looked at. “Come on. Let them get some rest.” 

Nicky slid off his stool. He flashed a smile at Nile and Leon as he headed after Joe to the door. 

Nile's smile tightened when Nicky met her eyes, and her gaze followed him as he left. 

Outside in the bright light of day, the changes in Joe were even more striking. Vampires despised the sun and weren't often seen in the light of day, but the way the light seemed to soak into his new skin and gleam out again...it was lovely. 

Maybe that was just Joe, though. 

Joe saw him staring and sighed. “Get lost, Nicky. It's been a long damn night.” 

Nicky nodded his agreement, but when Joe started moving, he followed. 

“Jesus.” Joe wasn't surprised, it seemed. “You are the most stubborn, irritating...” 

Nicky grinned. “I just want to make sure you get home.” 

“And what makes you think I'm gonna let you?” 

“Because it’s much less awkward for both of us than me trying to tail you like people do on TV.” 

Joe glanced over at him, and god. Nicky had thought his brown eyes were beautiful. But these eyes, these yellow werewolf eyes that Joe didn't even realize he had yet... 

They were _right_. They fit him. 

He spoke quietly, wanting to give his presence there a reason Joe might accept. “You should be careful in the sunlight now. Your…” 

Nicky reached for Joe's hand, not surprised when Joe tensed and pulled back. 

“Your arms,” he explained quietly. “You've got a vampire's skin now; those injuries could scar forever. I can at least help you tend those, make them less awful.” 

Joe snorted. “A few more scars. Big deal.” 

Nicky frowned, dropping his hands. It wasn't like he hadn't known that Joe was resistant to his flirting. To his very presence, really. But talking it over with Nile made that resistance harder to ignore.

He met Joe’s eyes after a moment. “I promised Nile that if you really wanted me to leave you alone, I would go. I would never bother you again. So I will let you tell me now, one more time, that you want me to go home.” 

Joe’s mouth twitched. He peered at Nicky. 

Nicky braced himself. 

* * *

He was supposed to be a cop. 

He _was_ a cop, damn it. 

“I know things are bad. And I'm sorry. You have no idea how pissed off I am. But...” 

Richard didn't answer James. No point answering. There was no 'but'. James couldn't tell him that things would get better, or they'd find a way around it, or anything like that. 

Yesterday Richard Keane was a cop. Today, apparently, he was a wolf. And that's all he was. 

James kept talking, some awkward, half-assed sentiment. Richard didn't listen. He couldn't. He could hear James was upset, and he knew in his head that James was upset. But upset didn't do him any fucking good. They already came and took his badge from his clothes. James had Richard's gun in his coat, ready to take it back and turn it in. It was like he was fucking dead. 

But he wasn't. He was a wolf. 

James kept talking awkwardly until Richard rolled over on his side, putting his back to his former partner. James left soon after that. 

* * *

They weren't yellow, it turned out. 

Joe had seen a thousand wolves in his life and had looked them all dead in the eyes, but he had never gotten such a long, close look before. 'Yellow' was misleading. The color was darker, richer. There was amber in it. Honey. Gold. And flecks of red, though that was apparently unique to him alone.

Just as well: it clashed. 

The way Leon and Nile - and Nicky - had been looking at him back at the bar, he'd half expected to see himself still fur-covered or bleeding from the eyes or something. This subtle change surprised him even more. 

His skin was a fang’s. The faint tugs of weariness that always sat around his eyes and mouth were gone. The shadows under his eyes had smoothed out, making him look less haggard. Making him look his age, for the first time in a long time, as if the vampire had chased years off him. As if all the hard knowledge he had earned in his life was gone, and its mark was off his face. 

He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He stared at himself in the mirror and he didn’t feel tired, or hard. 

But the fang in his blood hadn’t won everything, and the concession the werewolf seemed to have taken was something he had wanted to see his entire life, every time he glanced at himself in a mirror. It should have been a bigger moment, seeing it now. 

It should have made him feel...something. Something overwhelming, as he looked at his fancy new yellow amber gold honey eyes. 

“Looks like I'm finally a real wolf,” he said to his reflection. As he spoke his fangs caught the overhead light and glinted in the mirror, and just like that Joe was reminded that no. He wasn't a wolf now. He wasn't a fang now. 

He was still nothing. 

His arms throbbed but they didn't hurt. The exhaustion he should have felt was more an all-around heaviness. He wondered if the vampire in him was feeling a little weighed down by the solidness of a wolf body. 

And hell, what he wouldn't give to not have to think absurd thoughts like that. 

"Are you ready to get wrapped up?" 

He glowered towards the door, but Nicky waited for more of a response. Finally, he pushed through the door to the bathroom and moved into the main space of his cramped studio apartment, grabbing his abandoned glass of whiskey. 

He had brought this company on himself. Nicky had given him the perfect opportunity to get rid of him, had been sincere and earnest and ready to turn and walk away. 

Joe hadn’t been able to let him. 

He sighed, peering at the inside of his wrist. “It’s fine how it is. If it scars it scars.” 

“Turn around.” 

“What?” 

“Turn. Back to the bathroom. Sit down for five minutes and let me clean your injuries.” 

Joe glared at him. 

Nicky stared right back, arm raised, finger pointed towards the bathroom stubbornly. 

Joe could have thrown him out without much effort, even after letting him come. Fang or wolf or both, Joe was still stronger than some little soft ex-pet. 

Maybe that’s why it was so easy to smile instead. 

He took the whiskey with him, but trudged obediently back to the bathroom. He flipped the lid down on the toilet and sat. 

Nicky followed him in a minute later, smile back in place and supplies in his hands. 

“Now, since werewolves apparently don’t believe in luxuries like first aid kits,” he said, casting a disapproving look at Joe, “we’re going to do this the vampire way.” 

“With a lot of dramatic flouncing and undeserved ego?” 

Nicky chuckled, a low sound that made Joe’s mouth twitch up in response. He set a roll of paper towels and a bowl full of steaming water in the sink. “No, I mean the old-fashioned way. Some older vampires can be resistant to anything modern, so. Saline.” 

He sat down on the edge of the luckily-not-filthy bathtub and looked at Joe expectantly. 

Joe sighed, but held his arm out. 

Nicky was surprisingly careful, soaking the paper towels one at a time in warm salt water and dabbing at the worst of the marks up his arms. Just as surprisingly, he seemed content to work in silence. 

It gave Joe a chance to study him close up. 

For all Nicky came across as young and naïve, he had to be around Joe’s age. There were lines at his eyes. Not laugh lines. Maybe they came from squinting into the sun after years spent underground. 

It looked like he’d shaved last a couple of days ago, and stubble paler than his dark hair was starting to come through. He had a mole; Joe had probably noticed it before but hadn’t paid it any attention. A dark mole down near his jaw. A prominent nose, which would have been the most striking thing about his face if it were for those impossible eyes. 

There was a little hazel in there, Joe thought. Right around the iris. 

Nicky had struck Joe first as a pretty nighttime human who clashed with everything Joe’s life was about. But this close up he seemed far less shiny, and more real. 

Joe couldn’t look away, but the silent study was starting to make his heart hurt, so he spoke to give himself something else to focus on. 

“Is this the kind of thing you did underground?” he asked. 

Nicky looked up for a moment, but went back to work. “Sometimes. Our entire reason for being there was to take care of the vampires. Sometimes that meant letting them feed, but there were a lot of us and they don’t need that much blood unless they’re hurt. We’d clean up around the place, run errands, and we’d take care of them in any way they needed.” He glanced up again with a wry smile. “I was the only one Merrick would let near him.” 

“Huh.” Joe returned the smile after a moment. “I wonder who fixed him up after I bit him.” 

Nicky met his eyes, a hundred questions hidden in his expression. But after a moment he let it go. “And of course there were the nonstop orgies.” 

Joe blinked, but rolled his eyes. “Hey, it’s a pretty common rumor. I’ve seen humans on venom before. They sure as hell act like they’re ready to spread for whoever comes along.” 

“It happens,” Nicky admitted. “Not as often as you’d think, though. Venom makes _everything_ feel good, you don’t need much added stimulus. And vampires have strange sex drives. Even Merrick talked about wanting me more than he ever did anything about it.” 

Joe frowned then. Because it wasn't sex they were talking about, was it? It was humans drugged out of their minds and fangs taking advantage of it. Nicky had been _sixteen_ when he became a pet, and Merrick was much, much older. 

"Did you want him?" he asked, his voice rasping. 

"Merrick?" Nicky shrugged. "Sure. I mean...I wasn't me then, not really, but whoever I was wanted him. The venom helped, I suppose, and the fact that he was a lot nicer then. Almost cute sometimes.” 

Joe grimaced. “So you fucked around with Merrick while you were high, and now you fuck around for money.” 

“This is fun.” Nicky looked up at him, way milder than Joe would have been if someone came at him like that. “Are we going to talk about the mating habits of werewolves next?” 

A laugh escaped Joe. “I’m almost curious to hear what the fang idea of werewolf mating consists of.” 

“I’m sure it’s terribly offensive, whatever it is. But that’s something Merrick never spoke to me about.” Nicky grinned suddenly, wagging his eyebrows. “You could always give me a practical demonstration.” 

Joe rolled his eyes. He couldn't stop from returning the smile, though. 

Nicky’s grin softened. His eyes stayed on Joe. “You never let other people take care of you, do you?” 

Joe nodded down at his arm, at the aching red marks that were feeling a little better under Nicky’s care. 

Nicky shook his head. “I had to force this. And your family, they let you walk out of that bar earlier even after the night you’d all been through, because they knew you’d leave anyway. You’re…Joe, you’re so _young._ Why don’t you trust people?” 

Joe frowned and tried to draw his arm back, but Nicky had a firm hold of his wrist. “I’m not up for a therapy session right now, okay? Just finish this so I can get some sleep.” 

“You can hardly stand me touching you,” he noted, looking down at his fingers around Joe’s wrist. 

He wasn’t holding tightly, just tight enough that to get away Joe would have had to put out some effort. And he wanted to, it was his first instinct when hands were on his skin. 

But he didn’t. He even relaxed a little, trying to shake off the tension that touch caused. Hell, maybe he just wanted to sit there. Maybe he liked Nicky and his pretty smiles and the way he looked at Joe like he was some great guy. Maybe Joe was too tired to deny it to himself. 

“I’ve never been very touchable,” he said quietly. “I never tried to be. I would rather no one touch me than...” 

“Than what?” Nicky’s eyes were solemn, though, and not unsure at all. 

Joe didn’t bother finishing. It wasn’t important, and it was pathetic, and it was exactly why he should have never let Nicky into his apartment. 

He drained his glass of whiskey and leaned over to set it on the sink. When he spoke again his voice was less soft, less intimate. “I don't like people being close. In any sense of the word. Not emotionally, not physically. Sure as hell not sexually.” 

He could feel the warmth coming off Nicky just sitting as close as he was, and it was disconcerting. 

“People aren’t meant to be alone. People need closeness, at least sometimes.” Nicky focused on his work again, those soft strokes over Joe’s arms. "It's one of the few things we all do. All races. We eat, we sleep, we fuck. All of us." 

Joe grimaced. "Not all of us." 

That brief tenor laugh answered him. "It's a rare person who doesn't." 

Joe looked at him, eyebrow raised. 

Nicky's smile grew, then shrank to a simmer as Joe regarded him. "But...wait." 

“Don't give me that shocked look. It's not part of my life. Never has been.” 

“But... _why_?” 

Joe almost laughed. “There's not a werewolf out there that trusts me, not the way I smell or look. They hardly want to be near me long enough for me to help them.” It felt wrong, being so bitter after what happened to those wolves the night before. But Joe couldn't help that. The bitterness was too old and deep to make exceptions. “I'm not about to shack up with some human who would just despise me if they knew what I really was. That leaves fangs, and I doubt I have to explain why I would never fuck a fang.” 

“Give me another reason.” 

“Those aren't good enough?” 

Nicky's jaw was set. Determined. “No. Because you don't account for me in those reasons. I’m human and I know what you are and I want you. So there must be more to it.” 

When he didn't answer, Nicky slipped in closer. He looked at Joe with those bright, glittering eyes. 

Joe had never fucked anyone or been fucked or anything even close to it, but he hadn't found some magical way to turn that part of him off. He'd been attracted to people before, guys and girls both, though he tried to never let on. 

Closest he ever came was with Andy. Not too long after her change, when they were both shitfaced and he was so glad to finally have a real friend, a wolf friend. She was gorgeous and smart-assed and strong, and it was easy to let himself relax with her. But the alcohol that made that possible had also stopped it from happening, so they did nothing more than wake up naked together on the same bed. The hangovers helped ease the awkwardness, but they never got close to that moment again. Joe never had the urge again, and whatever Andy felt, she met Quynh soon afterwards so it was all moot. 

He let himself fantasize now and then, about her and a few other people. About some faceless stranger he just hadn’t met yet who might somehow be perfect for him. He'd been lonely at times, very fucking lonely, and those wistful fantasies only made it worse. 

Nicky...he was a sweet, nice guy who was attractive and completely fucking blatant, and it was hard to deny that there was a big part of Joe that wanted to take him up on his offer. 

Joe didn’t want to be touched because he knew he could live with the loneliness of never knowing. He didn’t know if he could handle having it for one night and then going back to being alone. 

“It doesn't have to change anything,” Nicky said quietly into the silence. 

Joe met his eyes. "You...you want me because you think I’m some hero for what I did. Helping you get away from Merrick. But… it wasn’t what you think it was." 

"I know you only saved me because you hate vampires." 

Joe frowned. 

“I know it didn’t have anything to do with me.” Nicky shrugged. "It doesn't matter. You did save me, and I love you, and that’s what matters." 

"You..." Joe looked away fast. Hearing it said in person was a thousand times worse. "You don’t. There’s no way." 

But there was nothing uncertain in Nicky’s voice when he answered. "That's just how things are, Joe." 

"Love. You love me." He laughed, but it felt thin and wild. "You're fooling yourself if you believe that, but you're not about to fool me." 

"You think it's impossible?" Nicky looked down at his arms, lifting a fresh paper towel. His shoulders were stiff. 

Joe pulled his arms in before Nicky could get back to work. "You have no idea who I am. You're not attracted to me, because fuck knows I can't compete with a bunch of fangs and they're the ones you're used to. Or are pickings worse now that you're hustling for pay?” 

"Are you through?" Nicky sat back on the edge of the tub, dropping the paper towel into the bowl of water and setting it down. His jaw was set, and some real fire was in his eyes. 

"Not if you--" 

"I know what you think of me." He met Joe’s gaze, cutting him off without fear. "Your sister thinks the same things, and most of it is true. I'm not smart. I’m not good at anything. People like sleeping with me enough to pay for it. That is my life. I can't worry about what you or anyone else thinks about that." 

It was like back at the bar before the full moon, when he told Joe to make up his own mind about Sebastien and then stormed off. It struck something in Joe, watching Nicky’s eyes burn with real strength. Joe felt like he was seeing parts of the man Nicky might have been if the venom hadn't stunted his personality for so long. 

He felt more real in moments like that, accessible. 

He went on, his words firm. "You're the most amazing person I’ve ever met, Joe, and I don’t want to keep hurting you. I don’t want to force myself on you in any way, because I know what that’s like from the other side, and it’s awful. Throw me out if you want. I'll go. But don’t tell me how I feel about anything. I fought hard to get back my own feelings, and they don't need to make sense to anybody but me.” 

He was angry, really angry, and maybe Joe had earned it. But he _liked_ it, and that was the fucked-up thing. He liked it because it was the only way Nicky felt like any kind of person he should be sitting there with. Nicky felt damaged when he was angry, and Joe was more at home with the damaged. 

Nicky gave him a moment, and when he didn’t reply Nicky got to his feet. “I will check in on you soon, to make sure those wounds aren’t getting worse. If you don’t want that, tell me now.” 

Joe stood. He reached out, unsure what he was doing but sure he needed to act. He slipped his hand to the back of Nicky’s neck and leaned in before common sense could stop him. Clumsily he found Nicky’s mouth with his. 

Nicky seemed to tense up with surprise for a moment, but his breath whooshed out against Joe’s cheek and he slid in close, fingers sliding up Joe’s arm as he returned the kiss. 

God help him, it felt good. It felt beyond good, like something that didn’t even fit into the world Joe knew. Nicky was warm, giving, his mouth moving with easy confidence. 

Nicky wanted him. It was clear in the way he breathed so unevenly between kisses, the way he pressed them together down their bodies, angling to kiss Joe as fully as possible. His hand slid around Joe, curling at his back, his touch firm and confident. 

Joe heard a sound escape between them, choked and eager, and only pulled away when he realized that it came from him. He caught his breath, staring at Nicky, his damp mouth, the flush on his face. 

“I don’t think...I don't love you,” he said, blurted, because what the hell else could he say? 

Nicky smiled, and all the damaged parts of him seemed to dissolve away. "You like me. That’s a start.” 

His hand shifted, tracing back down Joe's arm, pads of his fingers feather-light over any red marks. His hand brushed Joe’s wrist, then slipped down to slide fingers through his. 

Joe didn’t stop him. It was strange how easily Nicky touched him. No one else in his life had ever reached out to him without hesitation the way Nicky did. Even Nile and her occasional hugs and slaps on the arms were tentative, like she expected to draw a hand back with cactus needles stuck through it every time she touched him. 

Nicky did it like it was nothing. Like Joe was normal. 

“You know something?” Nicky said into the air between them, peering at Joe searchingly. “I thought you were so striking when I first saw you, standing in that alley smirking at Merrick. You were so strong, and your face…” He reached up, fingertips slipping across Joe’s beard. “You were beautiful. I could have stared at you for hours.” 

Joe shook his head, unable to stop himself. “I’m--” 

“You look like _strength_. But not hard with it. More like...” He flushed, but forged ahead with that strange specific type of courage he’d had from the start. “Like a flower growing out of a crack in some crumbling sidewalk. Or something.” 

Joe couldn’t stop from searching his face, watching his mouth as he spoke, watching the light in his eyes as Nicky looked back at him. Nicky was so damned good-looking, had been from the start. Now Joe knew him a little better, knew the strength that his innocence hid and the intelligence fighting to make its way through the fog he had been forced into. 

Nicky didn’t look like hard years. He looked like a lot of soft, indulgent years. But the strength in him was the strength of a man who had a chance at the easiest of lives and gave it up for something hard but real. He gave up the life of a pet to come above ground to a world he didn’t understand, simply because he wanted control over his own mind. 

He looked like determination to Joe, like the drive to fight that Joe felt waver inside his own heart so often. 

He let out an uncertain breath, feeling fangs jab sharp against his lip as he fought to clear his mind and make the right choice for once. 

Nicky’s gaze dipped to his mouth, and the blue of his eyes seemed to darken further as his pupils went wider. He drew in a breath, tongue wetting his lips. 

He wanted Joe. Joe hadn’t really doubted his constant professions, just their motivations. But seeing it in his body’s reactions seemed much more concrete. Nicky was drawn to him, he wanted him. 

Joe wanted him too. But Joe never got to have the things he wanted. 

Right? 

He squeezed Nicky’s hand, feeling uncharacteristically timid. “I don’t...I never…” 

Nicky met his eyes again, and somehow seemed to read perfectly the doubt that was in them now. He smiled, sudden and bright and hopeful, like something had sparked under his skin and blazed up inside of him. 

“I’ll take care of you,” he said simply. 

Joe, who had never stopped taking care of himself for a second in his entire life, wanted nothing more than to let him. 

He shut his eyes.

He nodded. 

* * *

The sun was going down. 

Joe usually didn't pay much attention to the aesthetics of sunsets, but this one was in just the right spot to spill through the window and over the bed. A yellow kind of light, nothing like the blue of moonlight or the screaming white of the streetlights after dark. 

Not the pale yellow light of day, either. This was deep. Infused with red and gold and orange. Had to be some strange rare phenomenon. If this happened every evening he would've noticed it before. 

The light touched the far side of the bed, illuminating the foreign presence of another person. 

The yellow light against Nicky's skin made him look smooth and golden, shining from within. Another freakish phenomenon, no doubt, and Joe was half tempted to lift an arm over into the light to see if it held its beauty against his own darker skin. 

He didn't move, though. 

Nicky was on his back, sheets shoved down to his hips, unselfconscious in sleep. A hand curled limp on his chest. He didn't snore, but his mouth hung open, slack, and maybe that was enough of a flaw. 

Nicky was the kind of pretty that Joe had always despised. It wasn't passive, content to just be there and leave everyone else alone. His skin was unmarked aside from the two scars on his throat. His muscles were soft in sleep. He made Joe feel itchy, like his own skin was wrapped too tight around his bones. Nicky was simple, lines and curves and plains of smooth flesh. Joe could feel his scars acutely as he looked at him. 

The light left Nicky and found the wall behind the bed before Joe twisted his head away and tried to get his thoughts together. 

He felt…bitter. 

Better. 

It was hard to tell. 

Physically nothing had changed in the last twenty-four hours. His heart spasmed every now and then, heavy and harsh. He still breathed slow and thick when he remembered to breathe at all, like dragging water through gills. 

He was sore from the moon, and sore from Nicky. But he didn't hurt the way he figured he might. He wasn't as tense, as wired for fighting, as he usually was when he woke up. And as he took stock - heavy legs, sore chest, empty stomach – he realized that the cold that had slivered through him nonstop lately was gone. 

He felt _warm_. 

With a half-hearted snort of air, he dismissed the thought. Credit it to a nearby human body leaking warmth. 

Whatever. He was fine, anyway. He was alive, and he didn't have the energy to worry about anything more than that. 

He sat up, hardly being gentle with it. His legs protested, and the wounds on his arms registered complaints, but he ignored it. He flipped the sheets away and tried to level a frown at the bed beside him. 

Would've been wasted even if he'd managed it, though. Nicky didn't stir. 

Joe dropped against the headboard, heaving a breath. 

What was supposed to happen next? 

Nicky told him that sex didn't change anything, and in a way, he was right. That part was done with without much wreckage. Just bodies. Though maybe not 'just', because it was the slide of skin and the warmth and the touching of those bodies that seemed more miraculous than anything else. 

But it was done, and now Joe had to get through whatever was bound to follow it. 

How did people do it? Was there supposed to be coffee and eggs? Was he supposed to greet Nicky when he woke up with a smile and a kiss? 

Maybe he was supposed to lay back down, spoon up to him. Kiss him awake, fuck him into the mattress. Offer a shower with some porn-movie leer and pretend they were in some different world where the hot water lasted longer than four minutes and there was room enough for two. 

He could picture it. He could see it. He wanted it. 

His gaze moved back to Nicky, and his stomach tightened. 

Nicky’s eyes were barely open, and they slid shut lazily. But then there was that sliver of blue again, clear and bright. His gaze found Joe like a homing beacon, and without a moment's pause he smiled. 

Not that giddy grin he usually exploded on everyone. This was a small curve of a smile. Slight but warm, so warm, like it was catching a little of the waning sunlight. Heavy-lidded, sated. The kind of smile that didn't belong in a place that was falling apart. 

His eyes traced Joe’s face, and even though Joe knew what he looked like he had no idea what it was Nicky saw when he looked at him that way. 

His shower was too small. There were no eggs in the kitchen. He had nothing to talk about in the face of that smile. 

He wasn’t allowed to want things. He should never have forgotten that. 

"How much?" 

Nicky blinked and stirred, lifting his head off the pillow. "Hmm?" 

Joe wanted to look away. Instead he drove his eyes into Nicky. He tried for cold and hard, and of course he pulled it off. It was his fucking specialty. 

"We never talked about it. If I knew how much you charge, I'd have it ready." 

Nicky turned on his side. His brow furrowed, but cleared. "You're kidding." He smiled like he was sure, but the words were almost a question. 

Joe cleared his throat, but sleep clung enough to drag his words through gravel. "I was gonna leave money on the dresser and take off, but this is my place. What's the procedure when a whore makes a house call?" 

Nicky's mouth moved, his smile stretching, then shrinking, then pressing tight. His eyes went strange. 

Joe looked away. 

It was Nicky himself who said that it meant nothing. Changed nothing. He should have expected this. 

The sun was nearly gone by then, just a hint of square light sliced crooked by the ceiling. The door was open and light filtered in from the living room, but Joe didn't need it to see. Vampires and werewolves both had better night vision than humans. 

The silence ticked by. Joe's heart jabbed a slow beat, like internal recrimination. 

By the time movement shifted the bed, whatever sex spell Joe woke up under had passed. When he looked back at Nicky there wasn't much golden and flawless about him. He was wan, disheveled, and he looked like a tired guy who’d never smiled in his life. 

He even moved without grace, his hands clumsy as he pushed the sheets off his legs and dropped his feet to the floor. His shoulders curved downward and his hands clenched the edge of the mattress. 

Joe drew a syrupy breath, let it out. 

"No charge," Nicky said, heavy against the silence. 

He stood and moved with compact grace to pick up discarded clothes. He went to the door and out of the bedroom without another word. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I went back and forth with myself a thousand times about actually writing the sex scene that would go in this chapter. In the end it felt strange to me, including smut this late in a story like this. 
> 
> But I still want to write it, so I might post it as a separate related story if I do. If anyone's interested in that, lmk.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few truths come out. Merrick gets his hands on Nicky.

Once she was going to be a doctor. 

When she was fifteen years old, Celeste was attacked at some party her friends dragged her to. It had been a dumb move, a pack of bored rich young idiots going to the bad side of town and slumming with the delinquents. The kind of thing that earned an attack. But she hadn’t known better at the time. All she wanted to do was act out and piss off her Important Politician dad. 

Funny thing was, before the attack came Celeste found herself much more impressed with the delinquents than she had ever been with her own friends. They snorted and shot up whatever they wanted, they laughed about things they had pulled off - stealing, breaking into places without being caught - and Celeste had been fascinated by it. 

But at some point in the night, when Celeste’s friends were wasted, things went bad. Some of the delinquents pulled guns, and some of Celeste’s conceited friends though they were immortal enough to fight back, and. It was bad. It was a hard dose of cold reality for a spoiled pack of sheltered kids, and she really thought maybe they wouldn’t make it out alive. 

But one of the criminals, a big, quiet guy who hadn’t said much of anything to anybody, came in from out of nowhere when Celeste was on the receiving end of a few fists. He sent Celeste’s attackers flying, and though none of them were hurt by it they took one look at him and found other targets for their fun. 

Out for coffee afterwards, avoiding the police and delaying the end of the night, Celeste and her rescuer concluded that both their sets of friends were assholes and they deserved better. 

From that night on, Celeste refused to be separated from Richard Keane. 

Her dad despised Richard, which was icing on the cake. But Celeste would have been with him regardless. They got along, and Celeste wasn’t the kind of girl who got along with people. She lived in her own head too much. Richard, while quiet, wasn’t internal the way Celeste was. He had been military for a short time, had moved to America on a whim after the service, an easy choice thanks to an American mother and dual citizenship. Things had gone downhill for him for a little while. 

Together they were better. 

Since that night had pushed her out of the lethargy of her life, Celeste started making plans. She decided to become a doctor. A surgeon. She wasn’t squeamish, she had talented hands, and it would use enough of her brain to stay interesting while giving her enough money to keep her content. Twenty years of that, retirement, and she would be able to afford to get her stepsister away from their dad at the same time. Perfect. 

Richard had a harder time figuring out a plan, mostly because he didn’t stress out over it and just assumed he’d figure shit out when he had to. Celeste wasn’t at all surprised when he simply told her one day that he was going to be a cop. 

Decisions were easy for Richard. 

He was always protective of Celeste, but he grew fierce with it the closer they got. He had anger issues sometimes, but never with her. He always spoke disparagingly about his own intelligence, but once he joined the force he found that his mind thought clearly in terms of logistics and strategy, and he was promoted fast. 

Celeste adored him, and Richard was entirely devoted to her. Celeste was going to be a doctor, and Richard was a policeman. They were going to scandalize the social columns and grow old and happy side by side. 

Instead... 

There they were. 

She hadn't come up from the underground since she was first turned, but when she got the call from Richard's partner, when she heard where he was and why, she didn’t hesitate. 

Richard dwarfed the narrow hospital bed. He was on his side, ignoring the doorway and anyone who might come in. He was awake, Celeste could tell from the unevenness of his breathing. But he lay there with bandages covering his arm, his shoulder, and he didn't react to the sound of footsteps. 

She moved around the bed. “Richard.” 

His breath stuttered in surprise, and he rolled carefully onto his back even as Celeste came into sight. 

She approached the bedside, aching at the stark look in his eyes, his drawn face. She opened her mouth to say something, but she was out of practice with soothing words. 

His throat worked and he rubbed at damp eyes. “Hey. What're you doing here?” he asked, his voice rough. He pushed awkwardly on his good hand to sit up, trying to smile. 

She swallowed and reached out, touching the rough line of his jaw. “I know what happened,” she said quietly. 

Richard was as strong a man as she'd ever known, and the way his face just seemed to dissolve under her touch was painful. She had never seen him cry, but he didn't try to hide it from her. 

Celeste found herself sliding into bed without hesitation, wrapping her arms carefully around Richard’s bandaged body. 

His tears dampened her shirt as he told Celeste about losing his badge, his job, his home. They left him a packet with his relocation papers, and he couldn't even open it. He even lost her, he said, his words ragged. Because they would never let a werewolf underground to visit a vampire, and he would now only be allowed into the city during the day when Celeste was asleep. 

Everything was lost. 

Richard had never wanted much, he was uncomplicated, but even the little bit he wanted had been ripped from him. Everything they had both worked so hard to get for him. 

She wanted to argue. She couldn't. 

Richard was just trying to help, to stop a rampaging wolf he found on the street under a full moon. He was doing his job, protecting people, and his life was over because of it. 

Celeste listened to him, listened to more words than he had ever said at one time, and her silent heart cracked in her chest. She had given up her own halfhearted doctor dream because the gift Meta offered seemed to be a better choice. She had needed it, the distraction of the underground, the new world being offered for her to explore. 

She had thought she could have it all: the power, the gift of the change, visits from her sister, and Richard. It was never going to be that easy, of course, and from time to time she was forced to face the fact that her choice had robbed Richard of the future they had planned to have together. 

Now Richard had the rest of his humble dreams ripped from him. Ripped by the jaws of a werewolf. 

Meta and the underground city had been buzzing with talk of wolves lately, as if they had suddenly become important. Celeste never paid it much attention. She had never cared much about wolves. They were stupid and poor and lifeless, everyone knew that, and if they were to be seen as enemies now that she was a vampire then fine. She didn’t much care. 

But then Richard cried in her arms for everything he had lost, and Celeste could feel her heart hardening towards the monsters that did it to him. 

The reckless rich girl inside of her, the girl who had sought out danger in order to keep life interesting, who had been drawn to Richard and his sense of danger and his anger in the first place, was starting to stir in the back of her head. 

When she went back underground, she was going to have to start paying more attention to what was going on between her tribe and those animals. 

* * *

The moon was low in the sky when Nicky caught a glimpse of it. 

The building he lived in was technically a hotel, but they charged by the month for Nicky and people like him, and most of the faces he saw in the halls were there month after month, just like he was. 

The building itself was painfully dirty, but the windows at the ends of each stairwell on the third floor were above the light panels blazing in the streets, so he could look up and out and see the sky. The windows in his room looked out on the ten-story condos next door, so the last he saw of the sky was through those windows by the stairwell. 

The moon was low, but the sky was clear and the contrast was striking. If he were feeling a bit more melodramatic he would have wished for clouds to match his mood. A storm, even. 

But he had no right to be angry or hurt, and the moon shining in the clear sky reminded him of that. 

He himself said that nothing had to change. He insisted on it, even. Why should he be angry, or even surprised, to find that that was what happened? 

It wasn't Joe's fault that Nicky was stupid. It wasn't Joe's fault at all. Maybe he could have been a little more tactful, but he was rarely tactful any other time. 

Nicky expected too much. He wanted too much, and that had always been his problem. He thought the perfect life was a Devoted life, but then he wondered if there was better out there. If he could have more. So he left, and ended up what he was now. Nothing. 

An ex-pet whore who made house calls. 

He ruined everything by hoping. He spent the night before…god, almost pious about it all. He thought Joe must love him, letting him stay. He thought that Joe wouldn't invite just anyone back to his bedroom. He’d never invited anyone before, after all. 

It must have been love, right? It must have been some fraction at least of the things Nicky felt. 

He was a stupid kid. In his thirties - he was pretty sure - and still acting like a naïve child. Painting himself castles where there were landfills, hoping someone would see him for more than what he was. 

He pushed away from the window in the hallway and trudged toward his room. A heat like grief was growing in his chest, and it made him angry. He didn't have any right to be upset. 

And anyway, he was right. Nothing had changed. Nicky was who he was, whether it was stupid or not. He wouldn't stay away from Joe any more than he had before. There was this brilliant world operating out of the Freeman bar, an underground world of rebellious werewolves and a devoted family, kind and struggling and real. 

He had never had real before. He wouldn't stay away from it now. Not even from Joe, who for all his pushing and shoving still hadn't managed to find the right words to make Nicky hate him. 

He could hear Nile's voice in his head, laughing about him and his confession of love. He could hear Joe asking him what it would take to get rid of him. And honestly. Didn't he have any pride at all? Any dignity? 

Nicky had no one to talk to about it, and acting on his own instincts wasn't turning out too well for him. He needed answers from outside his own mind, but there wasn't anyone to offer them. 

He couldn’t even ask his mother anymore.

Nicky slid his key into the lock of his door and pushed it open with a sigh. He didn't bother turning on the light, since he knew the way to the bedroom easily and planned on nothing more than falling into bed and wallowing in his hurt for a while. 

He did have one thing that he didn't have yesterday. He had hours full of memories to keep with him. He knew Joe in a way that no one else had ever known him. And he damn sure made Joe feel good in return. 

He had that to hold on to, if nothing else. He had one shot at making the man he loved happy, and he did it. Even if it only lasted the hours from their shy start to his jarring wake-up, it was real. He knew it. He saw it in Joe's eyes, when he woke to see Joe watching him. 

He had that, and that was something. It would make going to the bar tomorrow easier, and Nicky had no doubt he would be going to-- 

"You're late tonight." 

Nicky stopped in his tracks halfway across the dark living room. He couldn't see anyone, but he didn't have to. He knew that voice as well as his own. 

"Were you off playing house with the wolf?" 

Behind him. Near the door. He didn't pay enough attention coming in. 

He swallowed and turned. "Please, just--" 

"No." Merrick approached, a slip of movement in the dusk of the dim room. "No ‘please’. No arguing. I've let you play for too long. It's time to come home." 

Nicky backed away, his throat working. "Wait." 

From behind Merrick, a smaller shadow stirred. "Relax, young one." 

Nicky started, shocked. "Meta?" 

The slighter form joined Merrick, unclear but the voice was unmistakable. "Be easy. You're taking a trip, that's all. You'll be unharmed." 

"No. No, wait." 

Meta moved in, until Nicky's back hit the wall and he had nowhere else to go. 

She slipped in close enough that Nicky could finally see the smooth, defined lines of her face. "Go with Merrick," she said, his voice low and gentle. "Peacefully, or he'll sedate you the way he's been wanting to." 

Nicky flinched, his hand going to his throat. He shook his head, his eyes hot. He just wanted to sleep. He just wanted to sulk over Joe and think petty thoughts and he just wanted it to be five minutes ago, when there were no vampires to worry about. 

Merrick moved in, as gentle as he always had been when Nicky was his faithful Devoted. He slipped his hand around Nicky's, tugging. 

"Come along, darling. You're part of bigger things now." 

* * *

Dismayed blue eyes haunted him all the way down Euclid, and with more anger than he should have had Joe pushed through the door into the bar. 

He stopped in his tracks when he saw who was waiting on him. 

"What the hell is going on?" 

Andy stood at the bar. Nile and Leon stood behind. There was no one else in the place. 

All eyes fell on Joe. He stared at Andy in particular. "What are you doing here? There’s a list, they’re checking the bridge. And you _know_ not to come here at night. If you're seen…" 

"Lykon’s dead." 

Joe froze. "What?" 

Andy moved in, eyes glowing in that wolf way Joe had never had himself. Well, until now. “He’s dead. And it wasn’t the moon, or the cops. It was vampires. It was Meta.” 

When he saw the brightness in her eyes, he knew this was more than another grasping conspiracy theory. 

“How do you know?” 

“Because I have eyes in this city, more than just yours. And the fangs were careless. They came out of a back entrance to the underground, one of the ones they claim stays locked unless there’s an emergency.” Andy’s voice was low and sharp. “A couple of fangs dragged him out and just dumped him in the grass down the street. Like he was _nothing._ Like they didn’t expect to be seen, at least not by anyone who would care.” 

“Where...” 

“We're getting him to the island. We’re going through the water, the plans have been made.” Andy swallowed. “We're going to give him a proper burial.” 

Joe moved in slowly, and Nicky was a ghost filling his head, because it took him much longer than usual to be able to fully focus on the problem. 

“Jesus, Joe...” 

He looked back at Andy. 

She was staring at his face. His newly yellow eyes. “What the hell?” 

Joe moved past Andy, taking in Nile and Leon. They were worried, and Nile's eyes held an anger that matched Andy's, but they were alright. 

He let himself focus on the news. 

Lykon. Shit. He seemed like a good guy, what Joe knew of him. He was determined to find his place, to earn the money his pack needed. 

He was too new. He never had a chance. 

Another wolf, dead. Another name on the list, though at least Lykon’s fate was known. 

Andy went on after a minute. "Michael Nguyen, Lucy Hernandez, Dizzy Abaroa, Jaya Nicholson, Diego Hernandez. Arrested. In jail." 

Joe looked past her at Nile, at her eyes and the set of her mouth. “Okay.” He let out a breath, still catching up. “They made an announcement. Good. Just those five?” 

Andy's expression hardened even further. “Yeah, _just_ those five. Just the third wolf from Sandpoint in two months to be put out of commission. Just two wolves from Eureka's pack, and--” 

Joe held up a hand. “Don't tell me backgrounds. I know these wolves better than you do.” 

Andy's face was fierce, her words low and sharp. “Where the hell have you been all day? Where the hell were you last--” 

“Andy.” 

It was Nile who answered finally. “The cops gave a statement. About the ones they arrested. They say they're going to hold on to them indefinitely, until the courts can work out how to handle this.” 

Joe frowned. “Wolves caught in the city at night have always been fined and sent back to their packs.” 

“And now that's not good enough for them.” Andy didn't look back at Nile, her gaze unwavering on Joe. “Meta's been on the news all day, giving statements and working this just the way she wanted to from the start. Doesn't matter they only got five instead of dozens, she's still using it against us. She's talking like werewolves are dangerous animals who can't just be let back out into the world once they're caught. And you know she's speaking for the governor, because Broadbent always lets her be his warm-up act right before he takes some action against us.” 

Lucy Hernandez. Joe just saw her. She had brothers, a husband back home, kids. Dizzy, their packmate from Eureka. Their roommate in that hovel of an abandoned factory that Joe had taken Lykon to see. 

Michael Nguyen was from a pack near St. Louis. St. Louis had a wolf community same as most big cities, but Michael came to Seattle when he heard that they had a system organized to work under the table. Came because of Joe. Jaya. Everyone called her J. She was young, lively. She worked her ass off, kept up with every older, bigger wolf around her as if she relished the challenge. Diego was human-born, turned twenty years ago, working and living through Joe's connections mostly because he was so damned bitter about what his life had become after the bite that he wanted to break every stupid oppressive wolf law he could. 

Joe knew them, all of them. And arrested wasn't dead, but arrested indefinitely? Used to set some precedent about any wolves caught in the city? Christ, no doubt they were being pumped for information about the other wolves hiding in the city. About Joe and his entire operation. 

They wouldn't say anything. Joe believed that, he had a hard kind of faith in his illegals. But that would just make things worse for them. And whatever happened, it was on Joe's head. Whatever new laws came from this, it was his fucking fault. 

It was too much. Andy's fervor could be irritating, but tonight it was right. There were lines being crossed, actions being taken that they couldn't just sit back and let happen. 

"Where have you been?" Nile asked, her voice low. "We've been waiting for hours." 

Joe shook his head, but at least at the first thought of Nicky he didn’t instantly lose his focus again. 

"Things are happening, Joe." Andy spoke into the silence when it became apparent that Joe wasn't about to defend himself. "Big things. Whatever Meta’s plans are, she doesn’t care if we know anymore. Those fangs might as well have called us to pick Lykon up. They left him right in the open. Whatever they've been doing to those other wolves, the ones going missing one by one, she's not happy with that anymore. She wants us out, legally. She wants the humans to do it, and you know when it happens here it will happen other places." 

It was nothing Joe didn't already know. Meta told him as much. An end to the wolves in the city. Banishment. First in Seattle, then in every major city that had wolf communities. And that would lead to packlands being taken away when packs couldn't pay their taxes. And after that? Christ only knew. Rounding them up into internment camps? Some kind of we-don't-learn-from-our-own-past werewolf reserves? 

Joe had told Sebastien that if Meta was seriously doing this because she feared old prophecies then her plans would have to end with complete genocide. It sounded so melodramatic to Joe, but now it was hard to deny the possibility. 

This might well be the first stage in the eradication of werewolves. 

Or, no, not the first stage. Because the first happened two centuries ago. The first stage came when vampires decided to out themselves to humanity. Because they moved first, approached humans as humble friends who wanted to live in the open and hurt no one, they could set the tone. They could dictate the first opinions about wolves that humans heard. They painted wolves from the beginning as animals, as different, as mysterious and dangerous and obviously not interested in working with humanity. By the time wolves realized that they were known and had to start speaking for themselves, the damage was done. 

Fangs had been so fucking smart, from the start. They had known when the time for hiding was over, and that the best way to wage their long war against wolves wasn't through fighting anymore, it was through humans. Through society. 

Fangs practically lived forever. They knew how to play a long game. Wolves didn't think the same way: they focused on the day to day. 

They couldn't keep doing that. Not when the next stage of the fight was being set. Joe couldn't sit by and let Meta dictate how this war was fought. 

But knowing all those things did fuck-all for planning his next moves. 

"For God's sake, Joe." Andy spoke in a sudden burst, as if irritated by him taking time to think. “We have to figure out what to do.” 

Joe grimaced. “Is there something we _can_ do? Because the way I see it we've got less options now than we had before. And we had no fucking options before.” 

He needed time. He had to start thinking the way Meta did. He had to start anticipating things instead of only fighting what was right in front of him. 

Andy met his eyes, steady. "We've got to break those wolves out of prison." 

“What? Are you nuts?” 

“Meta wants to set a precedent. She's talking about holding on to them indefinitely, but you know that's not the endgame here. Next thing, she'll start talking about how expensive it is to keep wolves locked up for life, and that's it. It'll go from life in prison to having us put down like dogs.” 

Joe shook his head, though the way his stomach was twisting inside him he had a feeling Andy was better at anticipating things than he was. Sure as hell sounded like the way for Meta to get what she wanted. 

He forced that fear down, though. “Meta doesn't rule the world, no matter what she thinks. If she does want wolves to be killed for breaking laws, there's a whole shitload of human bureaucracy to get through to make it happen. Wolves are still people. There are still courts and trials.” 

"For how long? Damn it, Joe, don't you get it? She keeps doing things little by little, so small we don't bother fighting back, and eventually we stop and pay attention and realize we're completely fucked. She's done it since before either of us were born, and it's about time someone stops her.” 

“You think breaking wolves out of prison is the way to do that?” 

“We can't just desert them, since we're the ones who failed to get them to safety in time." 

"Don't say 'we' when you mean me." 

Nile came around the bar, frowning. "It doesn't matter who. Andy's right. Whatever they intend for those wolves, it can't be good. If Meta won't settle for just banishing them from the city, she's got to have something bigger in mind. And if you just messed up some master plan she had, she's gonna take it out on them, isn't she?" 

"It's not like we can hire some high-class lawyer and face her on her level, so that means we have to break them out and get them away from here. My wolves are ready," Andy said, facing Joe with glittering eyes. "They were already angry before the moon, and what happened during the full moon was too much.” 

“Your wolves?” Joe shook his head, but moved past her and Nile. At the bar Leon met his eyes solemnly. 

Joe wished he could bring himself to ask for a drink. 

He sat, but turned on the stool to face Andy. “So the Whidbey wolves are yours, is that it? And the rain dogs are mine.” 

Andy shrugged. “It's as good as the truth. Except my wolves aren't going to sit back in silence while yours get rounded up and murdered. Which is where this is heading, let's stop avoiding the inevitable here.” 

“Jesus.” Joe rubbed at his face, feeling a headache coming on. Fucking figured that the vampire running around in his veins wasn't strong enough to banish a fucking migraine. 

“It was a trap, Joe. An ambush, and we let them get caught in it. Meta wants us all out, and she's going to use the few wolves she caught to make that happen. That means it's all of our problem to deal with." 

Joe held up a hand. "Enough." 

"Enough?" Andy strode in, jabbing a finger out at Joe's arm. "It's not enough until we strike out. We're tired of living in the shadows. You hear me? This isn't good enough anymore. This existence, this second-class serfdom they're forcing us into--" 

"I said enough!" Joe reached out, grabbing her accusing finger and jerking it down. "Give me a few seconds to think, for fuck's sake." 

Andy pulled her arm away, her expression black. "You're part of the problem, Joe. Lulling them into being happy hiding in squalor. You put them in infested hotels and rotting apartments and they think they should be grateful for it. Well, we're not grateful anymore. We're done!" 

The door to the bar opened, cutting off all talk. 

Joe instantly moved past Andy to get between her and the door. If it was the wrong person coming in, Andy being there would bring a hell of a lot of trouble on all of them. 

Surprise made him freeze. "Quynh?" It was the first time Joe had ever seen her outside of that small apartment on Whidbey. 

Quynh stopped right inside the door and looked around at the group nervously as Nile rushed past her to lock the door. Her eyes found Andy and her shoulders relaxed. 

"Something’s happening." 

Joe groaned. "What now?" 

"Meta is planning something, some contingency. She's furious Joe got away from her.” Her eyes only flitted to Joe for a moment before going back to Andy. “She wants you back. She's obsessed, the whole underground is worked up about it." 

"What kind of contingency?" 

"Celeste mentioned an old Devoted named Nicky." 

Joe tensed. 

Andy frowned between the two of them. “Who? Who the hell is Celeste?” 

“Celeste Broadbent.” Quynh drew in the shortest of breaths, spine stiff. “My stepsister.” 

There was a moment of perfect silence. 

Joe never entirely trusted Quynh, not only because she was human, but because she was a cypher. She had no background, no family. No last name. She hid in Andy’s apartment and they seemed happy together, but Joe couldn’t trust it. He wasn’t sure how Andy could. 

Quynh blurting out more in one minute than she’d ever told him before seemed important. And from the look of Andy’s face, she hadn’t ever told her any of this either. 

She was a Broadbent. Jesus Christ. 

Her eyes flickered over to the others nervously. “Celeste...she was changed a few years ago, the last time Meta chose anyone to join her tribe. She’s close to Sebastien. I talk to her a lot. I’m allowed to visit her underground. She’s...” She drew a breath but her chin lifted. “She’s my sister.” 

It fit, in a wildly jarring way. The kind of information Quynh knew about the fangs wasn't anything a Google search would turn up. Of course she had connections underground. Of course she was friends – family – with actual fucking fangs. 

“Your sister. The daughter of the mayor. You’re…” Andy’s skin was washed out, her mouth open in shock that quickly seemed to be twisting into anger. “How could you never tell me? All this time you've been going underground and--” 

Joe held up a hand fast. "Later. What did she say about Nicky?" 

Quynh's eyes stayed on Andy. "He's part of the plan. Meta knows that he knows you, and Merrick has convinced Meta that he'll be easy to break. They’re going to find you, and this place, through him.” 

“Son of a bitch.” Joe's hands curled on the bar. Merrick still wanted Nicky, and now he was using Meta’s interest in Joe to get his hands on him. Sneaky fucker. 

“Joe.” Quynh regarded him, solemn. “They're going to move fast. Meta's not being patient about this.” 

Joe met Quynh's eyes long enough to determine that she was serious. Then he moved around the bar and grabbed a set of little-used keys off the hook by the rear door. 

"I'm taking the car, Leon." 

"Wait a minute." Andy spoke over Leon's soft agreement. "Haven't you been listening to a word we've said?" 

Joe moved between Quynh and Andy. "I'll come back." 

"You're leaving us for some human? Some _pet_? We're in trouble, Joe. We have to make plans, we need you here." 

"We'll still be in trouble when I get back." Joe opened the door. 

"Stop!" 

He looked back. 

Andy’s face was hard in genuine fury. "We're talking about every werewolf in this city. Maybe every wolf in the fucking country. You're putting some fang-lover human over us?" 

Joe shut the door and met her halfway. "Don't you fucking talk to me that way. You know what I do for these wolves. There's fuck-all that can be done tonight. If it was you Meta was after I'd be leaving too." 

"But it's not me." She searched Joe's face. "It's a human. Some human I’ve never even heard about before now. Who the hell is this guy to you?” 

Joe's eyes dropped. God only knew how he could manage it right then, but he felt heat rising to his cheeks. 

"Oh, Jesus Christ. You've got to be _kidding_." 

"Leave it, Andy. I'll be back as fast as I can, and we can--" 

"You're walking out on us for some human you’re fucking. After all your big words. After you looked down on wolves for not treating you like family, you're going to desert--" 

"I won't let them take Nicky. He has nothing to do with this." 

She grabbed his arm tight enough to hurt. "Oh, but he must suck dick like an absolute pr--" 

“Don’t touch me!” Joe's arm flew out, yanking away from her grip even as he shoved her back and out of his reach. She stumbled, surprised by his new strength, and nearly fell on her ass. 

Quynh appeared between Joe and Andy almost instantly, like she was part fang herself. Silent, her eyes ice cold on Joe. Any traces of her earlier apprehension were gone. 

Joe sucked in air, ragged and thick. His hands were shaking at his sides, and he could feel all eyes on him as he stood there. 

But as out of control as he felt, Joe somehow managed to speak calmly. "You've got balls talking to me like that, Andy. You don't have the right to blame me for a single fucking thing that happens here. Not when it's you who brought the cops down on the wolves in the first place." 

Andy twisted back to him, glaring over Quynh to meet his eyes. Whatever she saw in his face made her step back. 

"What are you talking about?" Quynh asked in a low, dangerous voice Joe had never heard from her before. 

His eyes stayed on Andy. "She knows what I'm talking about.” 

Andy stared at him, her face suddenly blank. “No. I don't.” 

Joe could see the lie, too damned easily. She was his best friend, damn it. 

He moved in, and as tense as Quynh was she didn't stop him from stepping right up to Andy. 

“That wolf going out during the full moon the last few weeks and biting humans. You talk 'him' up on your broadcast like a hero. You don't want him to get caught, you think what he's doing will help us somehow.” 

Andy swallowed, straightening tall. “If you're trying to say I'm the one doing that, I've got a hundred witnesses who know I was on Whidbey last night.” 

“No. I’ve got a hundred people who will support any claim you ask them to. A hundred loyal fans of yours. But Lykon was too new. He didn’t know there were alibis to be faked, did he? So he showed up here around sunset, frantic that he couldn’t reach you. A few of them were. You should have known better, should have let it go at least this one fucking full moon.” 

Quynh turned to Andy, expressionless but too still to be casual. 

Maybe Joe never knew how to feel about Quynh and Andy being together. But Quynh knew about Joe all this time and apparently kept it from the underground, from her own sister, even while the fangs were obsessively searching for him. Right then Joe liked her a little better than Andy. 

“So?” He moved up to Quynh’s side to face Andy. “Did you go out every full moon? Did you always do your own dirty work, or did you and some of your biggest fans switch off so you'd all have nice solid alibis sometimes?” 

Andy shook her head, but an instant refusal didn't come. 

For Andy to talk about that wolf like a hero, she had to have believed it. She had to have really thought that it was helping somehow. There was some logic wire loose in her brain, something that made her think that werewolves would benefit from humans being turned. That was even more understandable if the whole thing was her idea in the first place. If that screwed logic all originated in her own head. 

All she would have had to do was deliberately go out into the city right before the change. Make sure she was well-fed enough not to hunt, but close enough to humans that she might wander near one or two. Whidbey Island wolves were used to the full moons being playtime. So of course she might take a playful nip out of a human, not meaning harm, and running off again when they proved to not be fun about it like other wolves would have been. 

So fucking dangerous. For Andy, for those humans. She could have been caught. She could have killed someone. But she thought it was worth it. She had to have, because she wasn’t a bad person. Her anger was for the wolves, not towards the humans. Whatever the endgame was, she had to think it was worth the risk. 

There was absolutely nothing more frustrating than good people doing bad things for good reasons. 

He met Andy’s eyes and spoke evenly, laying it out nice and clear. “Lykon was out looking for you. He heard you were missing from the island. That's why he was in the streets last night. That's how the fangs got him.” 

Her eyes closed, and she turned away. 

Maybe it was cruel to use his death against her that way, but Joe wasn't the only one who had to take responsibility for things, damn it. 

“You made your choice. _You_ deal with the consequences for a while. I'm making my choice now, and if you try to stop me again, I won't be back to help." 

"Bluffing.” The bluster in Andy's voice was a thin, ragged shield. 

Joe met her eyes. "Try me." 

No one said a word as he left. 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nicky returns to the underground against his will. Searching for him, Joe ends up having the last conversation he ever expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The non-con warning on this story is for talk of having sex without ability to consent. This chapter comes close to showing some of that, though it doesn't get any further than making out.

The underground. 

It seemed cold, dark. Dreary, compared to the memories Nicky had of it. Even the recent memories of visits to one Devoted house right by the entrance were brighter than this. 

Merrick led him by the hand, smiling and talking nearly the entire way. 

Nicky didn’t hear much of it. In his heart, there was a darkness growing. A certainty so strong it didn't even seem like fear. Meta gave him to Merrick, saying that he wouldn't be hurt. _Untouched_ , she said to Merrick right before he led Nicky from his room. Because Meta needed him that way. 

But Merrick's eyes were wild, and his voice was too loud, too quick. He wasn't thinking about Meta's words, Nicky could tell that much. Nicky knew him, and how quick he was to dismiss the few rules that he was expected to live up to. No obedient vampire would have ever gone aboveground searching for a Devoted who left. Nicky was an embarrassment to the tribe, a human who refused their greatest gifts. Meta let him leave, but made it clear that his leaving was an exile. If he wanted to leave, he would never be able to ask for their favor again. He was to have no contact with the vampires at all. 

Merrick defied that order. He would defy this one. Nicky knew it as firmly as the ground under his feet. 

The worst part was that he was having troubling thinking of a reason to fight it. 

His emotions were too heavy, his memory crammed with insults and rejection. There wasn't anything for him aboveground. Aboveground was a horrible dark hotel room, a warm bar where he wasn’t wanted, and nothing else but silence and foggy memories and knowledge of nothing except everything that he had lost. 

Aboveground he wanted things that he couldn't have. Underground he wasn't capable of wanting anything, and everything was handed to him anyway. 

He had no _mind_ as a Devoted. Maybe... 

Maybe that wasn't a bad thing. 

But Nicky only had to feel Merrick's hand tight around his and watch his eyes gleaming as he led Nicky on, and he knew he wouldn't be able to convince himself to accept this. Even if no one aboveground cared if he lived or died or lost his mind to the pleasure of venom… 

_Nicky_ cared. 

He walked with Merrick, and stayed silent and calm because fighting a vampire on their own territory was worse than useless. Because Merrick was stronger. Because Merrick would use him fighting as an excuse, so Nicky wouldn't give him reason to say that he had to bite him to keep him there, or to stop him struggling, or anything else. 

If Merrick was going to take his mind from him again, he was going to have to do it on his own, without Nicky's help. 

He looked around as they went, past the paths he used to know so well. There were Devoted in sight. Ashanti, a beautiful dark-skinned woman with long rows of braids and a thick, accented voice Nicky used to be able to listen to for hours. She was leaning in the doorway to a small Devoted house, waiting for a vampire who wanted to feed. 

If she saw Nicky she didn't focus her eyes enough to recognize him. 

He looked back, but his mother's home was already out of sight. The entrance to the street was out of sight. They were moving into the darker paths of the fang houses. 

Merrick was taking him home. Maybe that was Meta's order, to keep Nicky in the furthest house, the most secure space. 

Would Sebastien be there? 

That thought hit him, bright like hope, making his eyes lift. Sebastien liked Nicky, in his way. Sebastien would stop Merrick from breaking Meta's commands, and Merrick listened to Sebastien. 

By the time they reached the doorway it was too dark for Nicky's eyes. He let Merrick guide him, stumbling only a little. He had years of practice walking blind through that home. They went down the stairs to Sebastien and Merrick's rooms, and Nicky held his breath, listening in hope. 

Nothing. 

Merrick pulled Nicky into his bedroom, and Nicky blinked at the dim illumination of a few burning candles. 

He was just able to make out Merrick's face, glowing. Triumphant. 

"I told you," Merrick said, his voice soft and delicate. Dangerous. 

Nicky swallowed as Merrick slipped a hand around his waist. 

"I told you I would have you back. I told you that you would come without a fight. I told you that you would beg me to give you my fangs." He smiled, and his teeth caught the light. 

Nicky looked away, his stomach rolling. 

"But I'm not so cruel as to make you beg." 

Nicky knew then that he was right. Merrick wasn't thinking about Meta's orders. He was thinking only of himself. 

Merrick's hands joined at Nicky's back. His fangs glinted, but his eyes were gentle. Caring. "Welcome home, darling." He leaned in. 

Nicky promised himself that he wouldn't fight, he wouldn't give Merrick more reason to subdue him. But the moment Merrick bent in, he stopped thinking. 

He fought. 

* * *

Joe double-checked the address scrawled in Nicky's unpracticed writing, and stared up at the building. He’d been right that it was close to the alley where he’d first come across him and his fang stalker, but he never would have guessed which building it was. 

The place was a shithole. It wasn't as bad as some places Joe had lived, but it wasn't much nicer than some of the places he put his wolves. 

Nicky had a dead father who must have left him money, and a job whoring it up for anyone who wanted a real live ex-Devoted. He should have been rolling in money. Should have at least been able to manage some kind of respectable place to live. 

Joe moved up the stairs and inside the unsecured front door, starting the climb to the third floor. 

He had no clue what he was going to say to Nicky. He was there to look after a guy he all but spit on less than two hours ago, that was awkward to say the least. There was always a chance that it was a final straw for Nicky, and he wouldn't want anything to do with Joe anymore. Joe had probably just fucked up his relationship with Andy irrevocably, why not make it two for two? 

Joe smiled to himself faintly. More likely Nicky would take his showing up as a sign that true love was still in the air. 

Joe wasn’t sure he’d argue all that hard. 

He reached the third-floor landing, and 302 was right in front of him. Joe hesitated, but only for a few seconds. He could handle awkwardness, or Nicky's increasingly defiant attitude. It wouldn't be worse than tolerating his lust. 

_Tolerating_. A voice that sounded like conscience laughed in his mind. He unwittingly flashed for a moment back to warm skin and soft moans, clever hands and a lush mouth making his body feel things he didn't know it was capable of. 

He pushed those images away with some reluctance, and knocked on the door. It creaked open when he touched it. One inhale was all it took for him to understand. Fang. He was too late. 

It wasn't Merrick smirking in the shadows, as he expected. In the darkness his vision was crisp, sharp, and he could see every last crease of Meta's face. He could see the victory in her red-blue eyes. 

"Where is he?" Joe hardly recognized his own voice when he grated the words out. 

Meta's eyes glittered menacingly through the darkness. 

Joe clenched his fists, ready for the attack, and said a quick, fierce promise to himself that if nothing else, he'd take the queen fang down with him. 

But she didn't attack. She regarded Joe from an inner doorway, and she fucking _smiled_. 

"It's good to see you recovered from the moon," she said, moving from the doorway across the small, simple living room. 

Joe stood where he was for a long moment, listening, inhaling, checking for any sign that Meta brought an ambush with her. 

"Where is he?" he asked again through his teeth. 

“I wasn’t sure you would come here. I thought it might take a day at least for you to realize Nicky was gone. My son thought differently." Meta studied him, cool and elegant as ever. "I wonder what hold that pet has over you." 

Joe followed every shift and gesture with sharp eyes. "Ask that guard dog of yours." 

"Merrick?" Meta waved a hand in dismissal. "Merrick is obsessed with an idea, not a person. Nicky was a belonging that got misplaced, and Merrick has yet to replace him.” 

“You think telling me he sees people as property is gonna endear him to me or something?” 

“Merrick is spoiled, as many of us are. But there are worse things one can be. It's hardly a crime." 

“Stalking, harassing, and now kidnapping. All crimes last time I checked.” Joe moved in, sensing no one else around and getting a little too angry to worry about it. "What do you want with Nicky?" 

"You." 

The blunt answer made him pause. "You want to tie me up again and study me like I’m some lab specimen?" 

"No, no." Meta smiled, her eyes glimmering in a way that didn't look particularly stable, though to be fair Joe was probably a little biased. “I have no interest in confining you again.” 

Joe's eyebrows lifted. 

“Matters have gotten more… _complicated_ , since your survival of the moon. I am forced to regard you differently, changed as you are." 

Joe's lip curled back. "Changed." 

Her eyes dropped to his mouth, and Joe could almost feel the tips of his fangs. He pressed his lips together again tightly. 

Meta met his eyes. "I notice you no longer have the brown eyes that mark your family line. Perhaps that means something. Please..." She gestured to a chair. Much like Joe's own shitty place, Nicky's furnishings were used, worn. "Sit down." 

"I didn't come here for a chat." 

"You came for Nicky. I have Nicky. Sit." 

Joe moved stiffly, his hands fisting and relaxing at his sides. He sat straight-backed, perched on the edge of the chair, ready to move fast if he had to. 

Meta moved to the opposite chair and settled in, as regal as if they were back in her fancy office. "Something must be done about you. Vampires have laws, you understand. Laws that we hold sacred. One of the most important of those laws is that no one can be changed until they have the full agreement of the tribe, and have sworn allegiance to us. We have to be protective about who joins our ranks, in the name of survival." 

Joe snorted. "You're mad because I broke your law? Why don't you talk to that psycho who bit me?" 

"You're a werewolf. Merrick had no way of knowing you would change." 

Joe shook his head. Merrick bit him with his own blood running into his mouth, and if Joe had been the human Merrick thought he was, he would have changed anyway. Merrick was an idiot. But he didn't argue, because Meta being so attached to that idiot might do her harm one day, and Joe wasn't about to mess with that. 

"But," she continued, "it wouldn't be fair to hold you accountable either. What's happened here is nothing our laws could have predicted. Which is a good thing for you, because vampires who are turned without tribe consent are considered rogue." 

"If that means you kill them, don't talk around it." 

"Sometimes they are destroyed, yes. We do give them a chance. It is hard to kill a vampire. It's an ugly process. But the changing…it is sacred beyond anything else. Our tribes flourish because we are so particular about who we change. In my tribe, there have been only two in the last ten years." 

"Well, sure. The popular kids can't go letting just anyone sit with them." 

Meta studied him. "You’re trivializing it unfairly." 

"Look, lady..." Joe leaned in, elbows resting on his knees. His sleeves pulled up, revealing the faded marks still left over from the full moon. The marks Meta had caused, and Nicky had soothed. "You remember where you had me two days ago? You bitching about me thinking unfair thoughts seems a little ludicrous." 

"I won’t apologize for imprisoning you. You hurt my children." 

Joe laughed, incredulous. “And apparently your kind has been hunting down and killing wolves for looking like me.” 

Meta sighed. "I didn't come here looking for an argument." 

"You came here to kidnap a helpless human to get to me." 

"You need to be talked to." 

"Nicky has nothing to do with whatever this is. If you wanted to get on my good side so we could have a nice civil chat, that wasn't the way to do it." 

"Maybe not. But you seem to lean towards drastic measures, so I assume drastic measures are what you understand." 

Joe looked away from her, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. His gaze caught on a photo, one of the few personal items sitting in that dingy room. 

He rose from the edge of that chair and moved to the shelf and that picture, not caring that Meta was watching. 

He saw Nicky easily in the small, beaming boy standing with his parents. The mother was lovely - piles of thick dark hair over delicate cheekbones and vibrant eyes. Joe could see Nicky in her eyes, round and open, and her full lips. The man beside her was a surprise, though. Thinning dark hair, round-bellied, glasses. He had his arm around the woman and a hand on the boy’s shoulder, and the proud happiness in his plain face was enough to make Joe ache. 

Years later that man was gone, his wife was an aging and probably all but brainless Devoted, and his son was desperately trying to grasp some kind of life for himself. 

Damn it. 

He turned, a new heat in his face as he looked at Meta. "Let him go. He doesn't deserve to get involved in this." 

"He's perfectly safe, and I’m done talking about Nicky." Meta stood smoothly and pressed her hands down the lines of sharp slacks that probably wouldn't dare think of wrinkling. "You know, I understand you better than you realize." 

The way she said it told Joe everything. This was someone who had a whole line of bullshit prepared and rehearsed, and she was going to give Joe no choice but to hear it all out. 

Fuck’s sake. 

He sighed. "I doubt that." 

"You're a relic, and I am old." 

"A relic." Joe folded his arms over his chest. He could almost feel those happy two-dimensional faces staring at his back. 

"This rebellion you've orchestrated in my city. We've allowed it to go on for quite a while, because it was harmless enough and people like you must be allowed to feel like they’re winning some small victory. But now you're interfering in my plans, and that's something I can't allow. You must realize that it's useless to resist the inevitable." 

Joe raised his eyebrows. 

“There is no war to be fought here. It's been fought already, and you lost. You lost, sorry to say, before you were even born. Maybe wolves could have led some revolution one or two centuries ago, when we first began to assert our position among humans. But today?" 

Something about Meta, the expression, the thoughtful, practiced pauses when she spoke, reminded Joe of Andy when she was getting into political preach mode. The difference was that all Andy had were words. She was helpless to do anything. Meta could do anything she wanted, but she still relied on words. 

Joe wasn't sure why she was bothering. What was the point of talking? If Meta wanted to stop him she could have just killed Joe when he walked in. She could have at least tried. 

So she didn't want to kill him. Which meant she wanted something else. Something different than what she’d wanted the night of the full moon, when she thought Joe was doomed to die. 

Meta studied him. "In case you haven't followed the news today, three humans were injured over the full moon. Bitten, changed, all three of them. Werewolves now. That is as good as death as far as humans are concerned.” 

It was the worst part of Andy’s plot: Meta claiming that wolves living in the city illegally were dangerous wasn't something Joe could argue against, because thanks to Andy it was true. They didn't _have_ to be dangerous; it would have been so easy to avoid the danger. It felt disloyal, though, to think bad thoughts towards Andy with a fang standing in front of him. 

“When I ask, with human safety and the future of this city in mind, that the illegal wolves in custody be put down, and that the rest of you be exiled, they won't argue. And when Seattle, one of the first and the most famous of vampire communities in this country, decides that wolves are too dangerous to mix with people, other cities will follow." 

Put down. Well. No point wondering what the plan was anymore. Andy had been right. 

His voice was hoarse. "If you want us to revolt, that would be a good way to start it." 

"It would be useless. Society has grown beyond revolutions. Humans..." Meta's smile faded. "Humans are uncomfortable with rebellion. They distrust strong emotions. The few who agree with your cause would plead with you to act rationally, to accept small concessions. Those who don't agree would see you as nothing but a terrorist group attacking their way of life.” 

"I know some humans who would disagree with you." 

"I don't doubt it. Everyone's a passionate warrior for their cause when sitting with friends and talking about it. But in the wider world of humans? Revolution today comes in petitions and cleverly written articles on the internet. If humans believe a cause they buy a bumper sticker and sign a petition, and they're content that they've done some good for the world. Grander protests alienate them and turn them against the cause." 

Joe shook his head. "If we fight…" 

"You'll lose. You'll be stopped. Arrested in greater numbers, banished that much faster. First here and then in all the cities beyond who follow our example.” Meta met his eyes, steady and matter of fact. “If you fight, you are achieving my goals for me, and faster than I ever could.” 

* * *

For a moment, there was pain. Old scars reopened, and his worst fear came to life. 

Just one moment; one panicked instant when he couldn't twist himself any further and Merrick could still reach him. One last, conscious, hysterical moment when Merrick's breath teased his skin and his fangs scraped and pierced. 

Then, there was nothing. 

No more fear. No more pain. It drained from him, easy, until nothing was left. Nicky remembered that he was worried, and he even remembered why. But the worry seemed instantly ridiculous. Fighting was a waste of time. Denying himself…denying this... 

There was no reason. 

He let out a sigh as he sagged against Merrick's welcoming body. He opened his eyes and the world was as perfect as he remembered. 

Merrick was warm against him as he fed, clinging with a welcoming strength. The contrast between dark corners and the flickers of the single candle was beautiful, sepia shadows that tumbled as the flame moved. 

Nicky's hands slid upward, catching on Merrick's arms and holding him. Comfort, and heat, and there was nothing aboveground like it. Aboveground there was smirking and cruel words, and denial. 

A twist of pain came and went as Merrick's teeth slipped free. Nicky turned in his arms, heavy, boneless. 

Merrick stood straight and still, a pillar to hold on to. He was slighter than Nicky, shorter, but vampire strength made that irrelevant. 

Nicky murmured, more noise than words, and tilted his head back. There was a smile on his face that he couldn't hide. 

After a moment Merrick bent. He swept his tongue, lingering and almost playful, against the blood trailing from the wound he left. 

Nicky opened his eyes. His arms looped around Merrick's neck, fingers toying against the softness of his dark hair. He couldn’t stop smiling, feeling the pleasure coursing through him. 

Merrick smiled, his eyes gleaming. "And now you're home." 

Nicky stumbled into him, laughing. Lightheaded, and he remembered why he was fed so well when he lived there. He hadn't eaten since the day before, and so the venom was potent enough to make him feel faint. 

Merrick slipped close, and Nicky shut his eyes and relaxed. Strong arms closed around him, holding him up. The tickle of a mouth against his jaw and down to his shoulder made him shiver. Warm breath and strong arms, and for a moment he was as happy as he could ever remember being. 

For a moment. 

* * *

If there was a more surreal way to spend an evening, Joe would have needed to take more drugs than he had ever done in his life to dream it up. As it was, he had to sit down again, hands clenched around the thin arms of the chair as Meta went on. 

“I understand your anger,” she was saying. “You would die for your family. I would die for mine. Vampires and werewolves understand true loyalty. We know that there are things worth sacrificing ourselves for. Humans?" Meta shook his head. "Among humans there is vehement apathy, and that is what they fight to hold on to. Our ways, the old ways, alienate humanity." 

Joe dropped his gaze, frowning at a worn spot of carpet under his feet. 

"History has been less than generous to my kind, you know. Through the centuries vampires chose one way to live: they hid in shadow, murdered innocents, were the source of panic and manhunts and a good many unflattering fables in human texts. They were foolish. To feed they thought they had to kill. To flourish they thought they should change any number of people into what they were. There was no pride, no family. They were wild, and thought only of their hunger. And so they were hunted and destroyed. They were buried alive, burned, tormented. Those who survived ran away and hid in shadows." 

Joe couldn't help a smirk. 

Meta didn't seem to notice. "It's only when we moved to America that things changed. The world in this new country changed so fast. There wasn't a hundred years between horses pulling carts, and jetliners blasting into the air. Not a hundred years, which is nothing. The blink of an eye in the scope of history." 

She turned, regarding Joe. "We had to modernize. We had to get smarter. And we did. We formed our tribes, using each other for protection, and like any family we came to value each other. No more will a vampire turn a human on a whim, because any new vampire could risk everything we've gained. Only the smartest and strongest of us adapted, and so only the strongest and smartest could be invited to join us." 

Joe laughed, humorless. "Very Master Race of you. Might explain why your whole group is so fucking white.” 

Meta smiled after a moment. “There’s no right way to address that statement, is there? Maybe there’s something to it. I never thought about it.” She returned to her seat. "You have no respect for us. But I can tell you that vampires care as much for their families as wolves do. My tribe is my pack." 

"No, it isn't." Joe's fingers dug into the cushioned arms of the chair. "You have no idea how different they are. Wolf packs aren't made of wolves who fell together and decided they liked each other. Packs mean history. Generations of identity. Packs are blood, not venom." He swallowed, hating the words as he spoke them. They were true, but that truth didn't apply to him, and he hated it. "A wolf is the living history of his pack. That is sacred, not choosing anybody you think's good enough." 

Meta's eyes were dark, but she kept her smile. "Then your packs are loyal because you are obligated to be so." 

Joe scowled. 

"You are born to your pack so they must protect you. There is no heart in that. No choice. Imagine that instead you were accepted into a pack because they learned your whole history, your whole mind, and they _chose_ you to be part of it. Imagine how much greater a pack could be if it was made of the strongest, smartest people, all fiercely devoted because they want to be." 

"You don't choose family," Joe growled in return. "Fangs throw their own families away. You walk away from who you really are." 

"History." Meta shook his head. "Wolves revel in it. Everything you are now is about where you came from. Even the wolves in this city, as wretched as they are, think constantly of their packs in the wild. You aren't allowed to live; you're forced to play money-gatherer for some distant pack." 

"There's no greater honor." Joe spoke through gritted teeth. 

Meta searched his face, and after a moment she gestured. "I see you here alone. Where is your pack? Your family? They shipped you away, left you alone, as the Kaysani do with all their children. Where is the honor in that?" 

Joe tensed at the reminder of the other revelation he'd had no time to think through properly. 

He knew nothing about that brown-eyed wolf line that Meta had bragged she knew all about. He had never heard of them before the full moon. He couldn't even be sure he was part of it, though Meta had mentioned his eyes as if they were a trait, so maybe it made sense. 

The only thing he knew about the pack he had been found with as a child was that they sure as hell didn't have brown eyes. 

Kaysani wolves. He hadn’t forgotten it. Joe had never heard a thing about them, and that was strange. Even Quynh, who knew so much about both the youngest races, had thought Joe was an aberration. 

Did vampires know more about them because there were some alive now who simply remembered the history? Maybe knowledge of the line had been hushed up and kept from wolf stories, as a way of keeping them safer. From the sound of it fangs had a special interest in hunting the last of them down. Maybe that was enough to silence the wolves about them, and through the years that silence had turned into forgetfulness. 

Joe had been raised by a human, of course. Leon taught him everything he knew about wolves, but that wasn't much. Maybe the wolves around him, the ones he had felt so alienated from all his life, maybe they knew what he was. Maybe there was a reason they resented him on sight, something more than his smelling wrong and having human eyes. Maybe they were scared because they knew fangs would come after him if they knew what he was. 

It was nothing he could figure out on his own. He needed to find someone with answers. Someone besides Meta, and how fucking horrible was it that Meta seemed to know more about his history than he did? 

Meta seemed to energize when he didn't speak. "You're more than a werewolf. You are a Kaysani, and you have been changed by one of my tribe. Your blood is now our blood." 

Joe looked up sharply at that. 

"Our tribes are sacred. Accidental changes are rare, and can be dealt with harshly. But they can also be accepted, should the newborn wish it, and earn it." 

"What the hell are you getting at?" 

"You are family." Meta punctuated every word, crisp and strong. "Your fangs carry the proof of that." 

Joe swallowed. 

"You aren't like us, that's clear. But blood is stronger than appearances. Even wolves know that." 

"Just say whatever you're saying." 

She met his eyes. "You share my tribe's blood. You are my child, and we are your family. At least we could be, if you want it, and earn it." 

Joe was speechless for a long moment, waiting for the trick. " _This_ is why you didn't kill me when you could have? This is why you grabbed Nicky? You want me to, what, forget about what you're doing with the wolves? Pretend I'm one of you?" 

Meta shook his head. "There is nothing to pretend. I care about my children, and I will, like a loving mother, accept when one of my sons has made a mistake. I would never have wanted you to be turned, but you have been. You have become my family, and family is the single most important thing in the world to me." 

Joe couldn't even begin to find the words to address the whole thing. It was so far away from his expectations that he wasn't sure he even knew the kind of words that could answer Meta. 

She rose to her feet again smoothly. "I will keep Nicky safe. In the meantime, think over all I've told you. What I offer you…even you must know what an honor it is. Your own kind turned you out. I am welcoming you in. But there's a dark side to it. You have vampire blood now. If you turn your back on what I offer, I will consider it betrayal of family. I will destroy you as a rogue, and I will ruin everything that you set out to accomplish." 

Joe straightened. That was more familiar, and he could meet Meta's eyes again. "You're not too noble to threaten, then." 

"When it comes to my tribe, no. Come into my family, and the ones you care for will be protected. Choose your cringing wolves, and I will exercise all the power I have against you. Nicky, the wolves in custody. Every wolf in this city. I will see them suffer for it. A pack, truly, sharing the punishment earned by one." 

She smiled, and it seemed strangely harsh on her rounded face. "It would be a fitting end to this wan little rebellion, if it's what you choose." 

* * *

It was so easy to close his eyes, to smile and sigh and move under the hands that touched him. 

There was a peace in it that he had forgotten about over the last few months. For the first time since he moved out of the underground city there was no tension in his body. There was no shadow in his thoughts, no anxious worry. 

Nicky smiled all the time, he laughed, he was as cheerful as a person could be. But this was the first time since he left that city, and Merrick, that he felt truly happy. 

No. 

He smiled to himself and tilted his head, shivering with pleasure as a cool mouth moved over his jaw, down the line of his throat. 

He _had_ been happy like this, not long ago at all. Hours ago. 

Happy, looking into grim yellow eyes and making reluctant smiles appear. Stroking damaged arms and feeling inhuman strength. He had slept with vampires, slept with other Devoted, and slept with paying customers, but he never felt such a fierce need. He never wanted so badly to bring pleasure to someone else. 

That, hours ago, so fresh in his memory, was the best he had ever felt. Ever. It was the difference between being happy and making someone he loved happy, and it was striking. Beautiful. 

He arched up against the body that held him, and murmured a name hungrily against cool skin. 

Suddenly he was released. 

The warmth left him, the mouth slipping from his skin. The weight pinning him to the bed pulled away. 

Nicky pushed his eyes open, wanting to sigh a complaint. 

It wasn't yellow eyes that looked back. It was blue eyes, red-stained. Furious. 

"You would speak that name here?" 

Merrick. Nicky blinked hard, trying to focus his mind. Why did he think Joe was…? 

"Were you thinking of him?" Merrick grabbed him by the arms, hauling him up, his fingers tight enough that it hurt even through venom's careless happiness. 

Nicky's smile slipped away. There was something wrong. He thought it was...he didn't want to see... 

He wasn't supposed to be there. Not with Merrick. Not anymore. 

Merrick's hand jerked up, and an instant later Nicky felt a burn across his face. He reached a heavy hand up and touched his cheek. It felt hot. 

He blinked at Merrick, confused. 

"It's not enough." Merrick curled his hand into a fist and glowered at Nicky. "You left me once, and you will again. Won't you?” 

Nicky frowned, looking around the dark, candle-lit room. He couldn't get his thoughts to focus, couldn't make the images make sense. 

“Joe...” he said, puzzling it out, his voice thick with venom. 

Merrick's hand snapped out again, and another burning slap made Nicky's cheek sting through his haze. 

When Merrick spoke, though, his voice was calm. “You would rather be with that wolf than with me." 

Nicky shook his head to clear it, but nothing would come together. Something was wrong, but he couldn't muster up any real concern. Any drive to get away. The venom coursed through him, so much more potent now that he’d lost his tolerance for it. 

“No.” Merrick relaxed suddenly. He smiled. "I won't let you." 

Nicky returned the smile, glad at least that his anger was gone. He slipped his hand from his aching cheek and returned it to Merrick's arm. 

"The wolf won't want you, Nicky." Merrick's eyes glittered with reflected candlelight. His expression seemed hard. "This is where you belong, and this is where I will see to it you must stay." 

Nicky tilted his head, confused. He furrowed his brow and focused, carefully forming his mouth to ask what Merrick was talking about. Instead he murmured in wordless sound, drunk on uncertainty and venom. 

Merrick smiled, looking delighted with himself. "He will never want you. Not when I'm done." 

His fangs flashed. But when he sank them into skin, it was the skin of his own wrist. 

Nicky frowned in concern, reaching a limp arm towards him to stop him hurting himself. But Merrick didn't bite himself hard. Just enough to get the stain of red onto his skin. 

Nicky realized what was happening, a moment of clear thought amid the haze. He realized what Merrick was doing. The venom's grip on him seemed to stutter under his own distant comprehension. Even through the haze, the boneless, happy fog that venom had him floating in, he knew what was happening. 

When Merrick lifted his red-stained wrist to Nicky's mouth, it made his screams taste like blood. 


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joe tells us a little bit more about what shaped his past. Sebastien makes an overdue decision.

There was one picture that Leon could safely say was his favorite, sitting on a shelf in the cramped living room among a hundred other pictures. They were at a park, a place they used to go to all the time. It must have been one of the times Francine's sister was visiting, because she had to have taken the picture. Or maybe it was James. Leon couldn't remember details anymore. 

Francine was beside him, of course. Laughing, glowing, eyes vivid brown, her hair short and neat, natural, the way she always wore it after she first had Nile. Leon had his arm around her waist, in profile as they laughed. 

Leon had dozens of pictures of he and Francine, and they were always happy. The reason that one was one of his favorites was because of what they were laughing at: a chubby toddler Nile in mid-waddle on her way to investigate something, clutching Joe's hand for dear life, dragging him along. 

Joe must have been ten or eleven in the picture, skinny, his hair shaved to practically nothing the way he liked it back then. He was tense in the picture, like he was pulling against Nile's clinging hand, but the camera caught the curl of his mouth. The faint and no-doubt reluctant smile he couldn't help but aim at the kid. 

Leon loved the picture because it reminded him of all the moments that were too easy to forget: Nile plaguing her older brother with comics, dolls, forcing him to sit and watch cartoons, all in hopes of making him laugh. Joe’s face when he would shout to get Leon's attention, whenever Nile fell or ran into furniture or broke a toy. Leon would come running, sure his daughter must be dying the way Joe was yelling, and he'd find Nile sniffling away already-forgotten tears, unharmed and waddling her way to the next accident. 

When Nile was newborn and would cry the way all babies did, Joe would sit near her the whole time, watching her cradle or cot or blanket with round, concerned eyes, and he wouldn't leave her side until the tears were done, no matter how often Leon assured him that sometimes babies just cried. 

Leon loved his kids so much that it was this huge weight on his chest. A constant pressure. It clenched tighter around him the day that he woke up in a hospital and was told Francine had died and he was all those kids had now, and it never let up for an instant since. 

There was just so little he could do to _help_ them. He had never been able to accept that; he was never a powerless man. Even after he was hurt, after his retirement from the force way too young, he still found a way to keep his life moving. He still made himself useful. 

He stood in silence, in his still living room. He stared at the pictures he loved so much, and he thought about how different things were supposed to be. 

It was his turn to be the silent, worried spectator. It was Leon's turn to sit there with sad eyes and watch and wait and hope for everything to clear up and get better. 

"Dad?" 

He jumped, surprised by the quiet voice, and turned to see Nile in the doorway. "Something wrong?" 

It was the first thing he asked lately, more often than not. 

Nile flashed a wan smile. "James is here." 

Leon blinked, surprised. He left the shelf and pictures behind without another look. "Andy and Quynh?" 

"They're gone. Andy wanted to wait for Joe, but Quynh practically ordered her out." 

Good thing. James had always been willing to turn a blind eye to Joe, to the bar, to the reputation it had for being a wolf-haunt. But things were probably different now. 

Leon patted Nile on the shoulder as he passed, and she followed him out and down the stairs, out to the bar. James sat there same as if it were any other visit, except that he wasn't drinking, and Keane wasn't with him. He looked up when they come in, and nodded at Leon. 

Leon almost smiled a greeting, but it came out more of a grimace. "How's Keane?" 

James shrugged, heavy. “He'll live.” He said it like it was bad news. 

Leon didn't want to get into that debate with him again, so he moved around the bar and sat down beside James in silence. 

“I know...” James sighed, rubbing at his face. “Even if you think it's no bad thing being a werewolf, it's not...” 

Leon frowned across the bar at Nile. He nodded back towards the bottles on the wall. 

Nile turned to pour them a couple of whiskeys. 

James turned to Leon. “It's not much different than what happened with you twenty years ago. He's not dead, but I've lost a partner all the same. You didn't deserve getting shunted out of the force because some doctor said your leg would never be a hundred percent again. He doesn't deserve it now. But it's happening, and even if you think I'm being prejudiced against wolves or whatever the hell you tell yourself, I know you can remember what this felt like when it was you going through it.” 

Leon nodded. Honestly, the accident and going through physical therapy and losing his job and gaining a pension because he didn't heal fast enough...he couldn't distinguish the pain of losing Francine from the pain of losing his job. A whole two-year period of his life was a swirling mass of black grief. 

But he understood well enough. He didn't say anything to James about now knowing which wolf was behind those attacks, and he had no intention of doing so. But he did understand. 

James met his eyes, solemn. “It's going to be a hell of a lot harder for me to stay in touch with Keane than it was with you, and...I don't want to lose both partners, Leon.” He sighed. “What I said about Joe...” 

“You were never gonna lose me, James.” Leon smiled, small and sad. “I understood what you said. I even understood you wanting to believe it might be him, so you could put a face to what happened. Just...listen to me when I tell you he had nothing to do with it. Trust me, and we'll be alright.” 

James regarded him for a moment, then nodded. He returned Leon's smile, though it was as wan as Leon's felt. “Fair enough.” 

Nile moved in, sliding two glasses of whiskey and ice across the uneven bar top. “I hope you're not on duty.” 

James took the glass without pause. “Apparently I get bereavement leave. Same thing I got when you got hurt. They figure losing a partner's rough on a guy, I guess. They gave me the choice this time around, but...” He shrugged. “I don't have the energy to join in some werewolf witch hunt, so I said okay.” 

“Is that what's coming?” Leon took his own drink with a nod at Nile. “I suppose that was the goal behind this whole thing.” 

“I don't doubt it.” James took a drink and hummed appreciatively. He sent Nile a smile that looked a little more sincere than his last one. “Brought out the good stuff just for me?” 

She lifted a third glass in toast. “Only if we have to drink whatever you're drinking.” 

James chuckled, but tilted his glass to echo the toast. Another swallow, and his smile faded. 

He looked to Nile and Leon in turn. “What happened on the full moon scared people. One wolf biting people is bad enough, but come to find out there are actually a few wolves staying here in secret, so close to humans during the full moon? It's freaked them out. And you know as well as I do,” he said with a nod at Leon, “that people get ugly when they're scared.” 

“What've you heard? They're calling for wolves to be removed?” 

“The ones staying in the city? That goes without saying – it's an issue for the cops and city hall to deal with. People blame them for letting wolves into the city unchecked. What I'm worried about is what's going to happen to the Whidbey Island wolves.” He hesitated, mouth turning down even further. “Tell you the truth, what I'm _most_ worried about is what's going to happen to the five we have in custody.” 

Leon and Nile exchanged frowns. 

Nile spoke for them both. “I thought there were procedures for that. Most wolves caught here get thrown out, sent back to their packlands. I know they've kept a few locked up before when the political air was bad, but...” 

James took a draw from his glass that all but drained it, and that more than anything made Leon tense in anticipation of his answer. 

“Word has it that Meta's planning to give some official statement condemning the wolves, on behalf of the ‘supernatural community’ or some such bollocks. She's going to call for as harsh a punishment as she can.” 

Leon frowned. “On what grounds?” 

“On the lost lives of eight humans in the last month,” James answered easily. “The world isn't like you, Leon. When I said it feels like I've lost another partner I wasn't being melodramatic: the captain gave Keane a eulogy at the station this morning. Television's showing interviews with the sobbing mother of Brandon Johnson – one of the other victims – talking about how it feels to lose her son. People look at this as a form of death.” 

Leon could feel his jaw tightening, but he didn't speak. 

There was no _point_. Richard Keane was alive and well. This guy Johnson was going to move a few miles across a bridge, but his mother was mourning him for dead. The loss and grief and trauma were so god damned unnecessary. 

“That means they're coming at this like eight humans have lost their lives. Like they were killed. By wolves, during the full moon.” James met his eyes, solemn. “Now we've got five wolves in custody who were all caught in the city during the full moon. Examples are going to be made, if Meta's got anything to say about it.” 

“Examples.” Nile shot Leon another dark look, setting her glass down. “You're talking about prison?” 

James shrugged. “Meta hasn't given her statement yet, and the mayor's been quiet so far – waiting on her, no doubt. But if you ask me? I'd say she's talking about execution.” 

Leon sucked in a breath through his teeth. Andy had said it would happen, but it still felt impossible. “Come on. People won't go for that. You don't execute people who haven't hurt anyone.” 

“No, you don't. But these aren't people.” James held up a hand fast, before Leon or Nile could even draw breath to express their opinion on that. “Go on wishing that people outside this bar will start thinking like you just because it's the right thing to do, but in the meantime...accept that you're the minority. They're werewolves. They aren't human. That's what most people think, and it's only going to get worse when Meta comes out asking for blood. Knowing how she's got Broadbent eating out of her hand? She's going to get it.” 

Leon wanted to glare at him, to argue his point. But James was right – it was easy for Leon to lose perspective when he spent most of his life surrounded by people who believed the way he did. It was easy to forget that other people didn't, and that their opposing beliefs were as strongly held as Leon held his own. 

He drew in a breath and sighed, heavy. “If they try to kill those wolves...” He frowned over the bar at Nile. “There's gonna be a war.” 

James didn't argue that. 

A heavy silence fell – Nile poured James a healthy second glass, and Leon hunched over the bar and clamped both palms around his own drink. 

It wasn't just Nile and Joe, he decided as he sat there regarding his whiskey. It was the entire world that somehow moved on without him. It was everyone and everything in the damned city that Leon had to sit back and observe, because he didn't know how to help anymore. 

He used to be a fighter. He wasn't as driven by the werewolf cause as Francine, but he was strong enough to fight his own part. He never hesitated to act, not at her side, not on the force, not if he thought something needed to be done. 

But he was the old guard. If Francine were still alive, still working at Werewolf Services, she'd have been behind a desk somewhere, weary, supporting newer, younger recruits who still had the energy to fight. 

The world wasn't his anymore. It was a depressing thought. 

But then...maybe not such a depressing thought, because at least the world belonged to his kids now. It wasn't the better world that he and Francine used to dream about leaving their children, but at least they raised Nile and Joe strong enough to take up the fight themselves. 

He was so stuck in his thoughts that even through the silence he didn't notice the door open. He only noticed Nile looking up, standing straight and tense, and then he looked behind. 

Joe. 

He didn't look particularly strong. He looked like the weight of the world sat right on his shoulders and he was too tired to carry it. 

Leon turned on his stool. He almost stood, but Nile was already moving around the bar and across the floor, so he sat back and watched. 

“Hey. Did you find Nicky?” 

Joe didn't even look up. “Kind of.” He trudged past Nile. 

Nile shot Leon a quick frown before she caught up and tugged at Joe's arm. “Hey. You gonna--” 

“Let me go.” 

The words were flat, dull, but Nile blinked and drew her hand back. “...okay. Look, James has heard a few things about what's happening with the wolves in custody. You might want to hear it.” 

“Yeah?” Joe looked back at her, face blank but it was at least a response, and Leon relaxed a little bit. “Why do I want to hear it? Why should I give a shit what's going on with those wolves?” 

Nile's eyebrows rose. Leon tensed all over again. 

Joe waited for just enough time to pass that it was clear Nile wasn't going to answer. He didn't glance at the bar, didn't even seem to notice Leon and James sitting there five feet away. He faced Nile and talked with a hard, steady kind of voice that made Leon's nerves flare up. 

“I just spent an hour arguing for those wolves, trying to convince the last person in the world who would ever believe it that they're honorable, loyal. Worth saving. You know what I can't figure out? How the hell do I know how honorable and loyal werewolves are? When have they ever proven it to me?” 

Nile hesitated, her brow furrowed. “Where is this coming from?” 

Joe shrugged. He didn't explode, didn't get mad, didn't storm off. He just shrugged with that huge weight on his shoulders, and it was damned unnerving. 

“You've been around most of my life, Nile. You can answer that question yourself. I was born a wolf, and there isn't a single wolf in the world who gives a shit about me because of it. The only people who ever cared about me are human. And now...the only person who's ever offered me a place in their family is...” Joe shook his head, laughing, bitter. “And it's a trick. I know it's a trick, I'm not an idiot. There's something in her head, some reason she now wants me to go along with her willingly. But...even if it's the most insincere offer I ever heard, it's still the _only_ offer I ever heard. And how fucked up is that?” 

“Joe. I don't...” Nile frowned, studying Joe's face. “I don't know what the hell you're talking about.” 

Joe glanced over then, meeting Leon's tense gaze and taking in James, silent but hearing every word. 

He didn't seem to care. His gaze slid past them both and went distant. “I don't know if I can fight for them anymore, Nile. I don't know if I care enough.” 

“You care more than any ten people I've ever met,” Nile answered evenly. “I don't know what happened to you in the last two hours, but when this mood of yours passes you're gonna be out there like you always are, fighting.” 

Joe shook his head. He turned away from Nile and moved behind the bar. “I'm going upstairs. Do me a favor and stay away for a while.” 

Nile snorted lightly. “What's the chance that'll happen?” 

Joe glanced back, nothing on his face changing or hardening. “Stay the hell away from me,” he said, every word slow and bitten off and distinct. 

Leon watched Joe as he turned and moved through the door to the stairs leading up to the second story. He wasn't tense, wasn't fleeing. He just trudged, moving like every step took a hundred times the effort it should have. 

When the door shut behind him, Leon's eyes went to Nile. 

He saw the frown on her face, the crease of her brow. The look that said she wasn't sure whether to be worried or insulted or hurt or pissed. Leon watched that crease in her brow smooth itself out, and saw her jaw tighten. Leon watched his daughter stand straighter, shoulders back, and march to the door without a single look back. 

Nile headed upstairs after Joe, and Leon shook his head in the silence they left behind them. He regarded his glass of whiskey and shot his old partner a wry look that tried to be a smile. 

“When the hell did we become useless, James?” 

James looked over, eyebrows raised like he wanted to argue the point, but after a moment's thought he sighed and raised his glass. “Hell if I know.” 

* * *

He was no closer to answers than he was a day ago. There was no change in the doubt driving his every thought, and it was starting to wear on him. 

Sebastien spent the last two hours walking the dark street of his underground world, back and forth along the path, struggling to resolve the fighting in his mind. On one side was his entire life - Meta, his adored leader, the woman who was Mother to him more than any human ever was. Merrick, his brother. The smiling, passionate man who taught him more about living life in their decades together than Sebastien would have learned on his own in centuries. 

Merrick pulled him out of his shell. Meta gave him this gift, this near-immortality. This place of honor in an already lofted race. They gave him family. 

But the family he knew was changing around him, and the loyalty he so often gave without question was harder to feel. 

Meta was growing so consumed with the idea of power that she ordered death without batting an eye. She looked at Sebastien as if he were the strange one for second-guessing this forked path they were on. Merrick had changed from passionate to spoiled. No...he was always spoiled. Now he demanded. He didn't simply get what he wanted, he felt he had the right to punish anyone who refused him. 

Where was Sebastien supposed to be in all that? Where were his loyalties supposed to be? He grew up in one tribe and now it seemed he lived in another. Was it fair to ask him to love people who were different than the ones he first committed himself to? Or was all the fault in him for not changing with them? For not automatically taking their side, whatever that side was. 

He never doubted his love for them. He always thought it was unconditional. But now they were different, and his love was failing. 

Merrick always chastised him for being too given to introspection. He was well aware of how naturally brooding came to him. He imagined back at the start that the quality would be particularly fitting in a vampire. He was ready now to be rid of that entire aspect of himself. 

Sebastien moved towards home with a heavy mind. Coming his way, a Devoted walked, smiling, flush. Fresh from the feeding house, no doubt. 

She swayed a bit, but she saw him and smiled more brightly. "Hello, Sebastien." 

Sebastien studied her. She was young still. What did she want to do with her life before this? She may have aspired to be a Devoted - more than a few humans did - but surely at one point in her life she wanted to be something more. Something real. 

She was especially thin. Too thin for his taste, but she had an edgy sort of beauty that Merrick probably liked. Tattoos, though. He could see the red and black of petals half-covered by the sleeve of her thin shirt. She would never be changed. Meta never chose anyone who wore a permanent mark of their time. 

He wondered if anyone ever told her that, or if she still had hope that she might become one of them. 

He almost stopped her. He almost asked if she was happy, if she ever regretted this. If she realized that though she was spoiled, pampered, envied, she wasn't living. Not really. 

Sebastien never could resent Nicky as much as he should have. He took Merrick's sanity when he left, but he did leave. He walked away from pleasure without consequence, and as far as Sebastien knew he was the first and only one to do so. 

Sebastien thought about him as the girl moved past him and stumbled her way home. 

Nicky had enough wit in his head to consider the idea of leaving, to go to Meta and ask permission. To pack his few belongings and leave his own brother behind, because he wanted more. 

Sebastien didn't know for sure what Merrick saw in Nicky that kept the need burning so strong after the boy left. The unusual willpower in Nicky that Sebastien admired wasn't something that Merrick would have even noticed. 

He frowned as he approached the house. There were plans to bring Nicky back underground, but Sebastien didn't want a part in it. He didn't know the plan, the when or how. He wasn't sure what was waiting for him inside. 

He moved into dark silence, and moved down the stairs without even checking to see if Meta was in. He went into his room and sat heavy on his bed. Brooding, perhaps, but as much as he wanted to be rid of it right then, Sebastien had never been one to fight against his own nature. 

He thought of that girl with the tattoo, the addled Devoted with the nice smile and the thin frame. In his mind's eye, he saw another human face. Another woman, also young, but clear-eyed and defiant, with brown skin and long black braided hair and a kind of beauty that Sebastien hadn’t wanted to take his eyes away from. Protective, brave. A human that followed a werewolf into a fight that she couldn’t possibly have held her own in. Because she cared for her wolf brother? Because she was simply stubborn? Sebastien had no idea. 

He wanted to, though, that was the only thing he felt at all certain about now. He wanted to know her. He wanted to learn everything, the way he used to obsess over his science and philosophy. He wanted to treasure her, this complete stranger, for all the hundreds of years he had left. 

He had given her his name. Offered it. Gave her the surname he hadn’t gone by in two centuries. 

All he knew in return was her own first name. Perhaps that was all he would ever know. 

_Nile_ _._

"Sebastien?" 

Sebastien looked up. 

Merrick stood in the doorway, smiling. "Did you just get in?" 

He didn't answer for a moment. He stood, searching his brother. "Are you alright?" 

Merrick nodded. 

Sebastien believed him. For the first time in a long time there was no restless fire burning him inside. No unsteady jump in his movements. No edge to his words. It was his brother again. The one Sebastien swore to love. 

Sebastien smiled after a moment, uncertain but undeniably glad to see it. 

Merrick's eyes sparkled red. "Would you like to say hello?" 

Sebastien blinked, and realized: Nicky was there. That must have been the source of Merrick's peace. 

He followed when Merrick slipped out of the room. He caught up to him, putting a hand on Merrick's back, and returned the smile Merrick turned on him. For that moment, he didn't care what it was that brought his brother back to him. 

He'd say hello, he'd make sure Nicky was safe, and then for a while he would let himself relax, and enjoy having his brother back. 

Merrick moved into his own bedroom. He crossed the wide floor and walked up to a door. 

Sebastien's newborn resolve stuttered almost at once. 

Nicky wasn't in sight, and the door Merrick stood in front of, reaching to open, was his closet. Merrick's wrist as he reached for the closet door was wrapped with a fresh bandage. 

Sebastien moved in on numb legs. "Why is he in there?" 

"He was being a bit loud," Merrick responded with an easy smile. "But he'll behave eventually." 

Sebastien came in behind him. When the door opened, he looked in over Merrick's shoulder at the man inside. 

Sebastien wasn't a man given to snap decisions. He brooded and dwelt on possible courses until he finally felt his way into action. But the moment he locked eyes on Nicky, the moment he realized what he was seeing, his decision was made for him. 

It drove him backward away from that door, away from the proud smile Merrick directed into the closet. Away from the dulled blue eyes that looked out at him, just beginning to flick with traces of red. 

The entire course of his future shifted, instantly and irrevocably, and his long period of useless brooding was over. 

* * *

Joe wanted silence, and time. He wanted to make sense of the thousand different things coming at him, and the ridiculous weight of what Meta had just added on. 

Coming to the bar had been a mistake, probably, but he couldn’t stop himself. In this strange fog Meta had left him in, Joe hadn’t been able to put conscious thought into where he was going. He just knew he had to be home, and home in that moment didn’t mean his cramped and silent apartment. 

He hadn’t given Leon and Nile any choice when he started using the bar as a meeting place for the wolves he was helping. The bar, the apartment above it, had been their home since the accident. Leon invested his savings in the building, planning on his pension keeping him going more than any profits ever would. And that was that. It had never been any great dream of Leon’s to own a bar or live in a walk up downtown, things just happened the way they had, and they made do. 

It wasn’t long after he got the place going that Joe first started running away. For Leon, the bar was just a way to keep busy and earn a living once his life changed so badly. For Joe, it was a place to go back to when he couldn’t run anymore. 

When he made it upstairs to the apartment, he still had no idea what had brought him there. Maybe he just needed to remember it was still there, that no matter how the fallout with Andy and the wolves and Meta and Nicky came down on him head, the bar was still there, and the two people who had never given up on him were there with it. 

Less than a minute after Joe had shut himself into his old bedroom, the door opened without a knock. 

"Don't shoot." 

Joe didn't look up. Sprawled on his back on his too-small bed, he stared at the white of the ceiling. He felt the bed dip but couldn't bring himself to look at Nile. 

“Andy's pissed. She's got something in mind." 

"No shit." 

"Probably shouldn't've shoved her like that, you know." 

"I know." 

"You gonna stare at the walls all night?" 

He frowned, but shut his eyes for a moment and pushed himself to sit up. He only looked at Nile for a second before his eyes dropped and he found himself looking at that goddamned frog sketch on the table beside the bed. 

Nicky had told him he could see in Joe’s art how much he loved the things he drew. 

Nile sighed. "Just tell me." 

"Tell you what?" 

"Whatever this is about. Nicky?" 

He shut his eyes again. "The fangs have him." 

"Jesus." 

"My fault, too." And because he could hear the don't-start-that protest before Nile even said it, he looked his sister in the eyes. "He stayed over yesterday." 

Nile's mouth opened, then shut again. 

"He gave me this line about how he loved me, and I listened to him.” Joe waited for the moment Nile understood what he was saying, and then went on quickly. “When he woke up afterward, I called him a whore, offered to pay him, all but threw him out." 

"For the actual sake of Christ, Joe." 

"I am who I am, and that guy has no business in my life." 

“Damn it.” Nile leaned in and smacked him hard enough to sting. "You are so _stupid_ . You know that idiot loves you. I don’t even know if I _like_ him, but I can see that much." 

He hesitated, looking at the frog again. When he answered his voice was strange. "I know." 

"What is it with you? You left home when you could have stayed. You went through the drugs, the chains, all this shit because you wanted to shut us out. And now you turn away a guy who seems to want to tolerate your crap. For what? Don't you realize that you could be happy if you'd just let yourself?" 

"No," he said. "I'll never be happy, because that's not who I am." 

"That's some straight up bullshit right there." 

Joe bit back argument. He tried to keep his voice calm, and it was strangely easy. The fog he was in since Meta left him in Nicky's apartment was still hanging over him. 

“I lost the chance to be happy, Nile. I lost it before I was old enough to understand it.” 

Nile shook her head, irritation bringing back that pinched mouth she was so good at. 

Joe turned, folding a leg under him to face her. He was worn out and bitter and he had never felt more like trash than he did right then, but maybe that made it a good time to talk about this. 

"When I was a kid...” 

Nile huffed in annoyance, but met his eyes. Her face relaxed, as if she could sense what was coming. “Yeah?” 

Joe looked away, watching his own rough hands fiddling with the thin bedsheets. “When I was old enough to understand what I was, I used to have these daydreams. I'd sit there and imagine a whole pack of brown-eyed, brown-skinned werewolves out in the woods somewhere, in pack lands like they showed on the news and talked about in stories. I’d picture a sad mom and dad wondering where their lost little boy was. Maybe some brothers and sisters. Freaks, like me.” 

He glanced at her, and there was no mistaking the hurt that creased her brow. 

“It wasn't because I didn't like it here,” he said. “I knew you guys loved me. Mostly I loved you right back." 

Nile smiled without a trace of sincerity. "Gee." 

Joe raised a hand. "I know you think I'm a shit for distancing myself, but once I realized how much of me was affected by being a wolf, my human dad and my human sister sometimes just...didn't feel like family. Not like I’m proud of that, you know? But it was easy as a kid to feel like I was growing up with strangers.” 

After a moment Nile relaxed, though her frown didn’t let up. 

“Either way, the older I got the more I'd picture that little place in the woods. A whole pack of wolves with my eyes. A place I'd fit in, you know." 

Nile frowned, but Joe knew she must have understood. Even if she hated him for saying so, she was there for the days after the full moon when Joe had to practice lies about why he didn't come to school. Nile was around when Joe would scream his fury at Leon after sitting through some lesson at school about the dangers of beast wolves. When he knew the full moon was coming and threw unholy sobbing tantrums begging to let him skip it just this month, somehow. Please. 

He cleared his throat. "I _knew_ that place and that freak wolf pack. I saw little cabins and gardens and long tables where everyone would sit and eat together. I had a lot of dreams about those werewolves. Always the same place, the same faces.” He sent Nile a twist of a smile. “When I was a kid I was convinced it was memory, not dream. When I was older I told myself that was idealistic bullshit.” 

Nile hesitated. “So what do you think now?” 

“Now...it doesn't matter whether it was real or not: those faces are just as gone either way.” 

He pushed to his feet and went to the chest of drawers against the wall - the same small set that had sat in that room since Leon bought the place and moved himself and his two kids in. 

He crouched and pulled out the bottom drawer, pulling it off its base and setting it aside. Reaching inside the cavity, his fingers scraped papers stuck there, safe and out of sight. 

Nile watched silently as he came back to the bed, unfolding the few pages. He sat and held them out. 

“You were too young to remember, but...she always brought her work home with her.” 

Nile took the pages and started scanning them, brow furrowed. 

"Earliest I can remember it was the protests, the pickets and petitions. Right around when you were born she put down the protest signs and got the job at Werewolf Services. Everyone figured she was settling down...but she was using them, using their databases and contacts, trying to find out where I came from." 

“This is…” Nile looked up. blinked, her eyes going bright. 

Joe nodded. He knew those papers well. Every word. Turned out there weren't enough drugs in the world to ever wipe them entirely out of his mind. 

He looked down at his lap, rubbing at his face. "Everyone thought I was human, remember? Because of my eyes." 

"Joe…" 

"The county had officials out inspecting a pack's property, the way they do whenever they wanted to invent a reason to raise their taxes or take away some of their land. They saw me and my brown fucking eyes and figured this pack of wolves had kidnapped a human baby. They didn't ask, didn't verify. It didn't matter why or how I was there, just that these wolves had a human baby on their land. The inspectors called for help, the feds came out, and they tried to take me." 

The papers dropped to Nile’s lap. 

Joe looked away from her. "Wolves are pack," he said, his voice sand in his throat. "You don't just march into a pack and try to take their children. They fought back. People started shooting. And every fucking one of them died or got shunted off to some penitentiary that they never walked out of again." 

"Joe. You're talking about police murdering innocent people." 

"Innocent wolves. There's always been a difference." 

"You're the second person to say that tonight.” Nile regarded him. “But--" 

"The feds 'rescued' me, took me to the nearest big city - Seattle - and told the world that this poor kid was snatched from parents who were probably slaughtered by wolves. It makes the news, and it's a big thing for a few days, but Francine shows up with her name and her parents' money. She adopts me, just like that.” He flashed a wan smile. “I think she only did it because she didn't want me to go to someone who would keep me as some human-interest story drumming up anti-wolf sentiments. She was always a fighter. But when the next full moon came around and I was suddenly this furball in a bassinet, she realized the truth." 

“She didn't care,” Nile said softly. “Not about what you really were.” 

“No. Probably not for a single moment.” Joe smiled faintly. “Probably made her love me more, who the hell knows?” 

Nile looked back at the papers. "You found this years ago?” 

"Yeah. When I was sixteen." Joe reached out and took the printouts back. He folded them carefully on creases that had been worn from an angry teenager reading it again and again. Nile no doubt realized that age sixteen was when Joe really got bad, when he ran off the first time and then kept running, unable to not be furious at the world. 

“Francine found it all out years before that, though.” And, just in case Nile was missing the punchline, he went on. "She found a report of a village of werewolves that were killed by the government and then covered up. And pretty soon after that...she was dead, and Leon was forced to retire." 

Nile’s eyes went sharp. She looked back down at those pages instantly. 

“Maybe that car accident was coincidence, but I'm not naïve enough to believe it.” Joe reached out and took the sheets back. Handwritten in her neat cursive, worn from an angry teenager reading it again and again. 

He folded it carefully on the creases. "My pack was slaughtered when I was a baby. Me and my brown fucking eyes got them slaughtered. Francine found out, and it killed her and disabled Leon. And now…" He shook his head. "Now I'm going to watch every wolf around me get slaughtered because of me." 

"Joe." Nile let out a breath, touching his shoulder. “This isn’t your fault.” 

He laughed. “The messed-up thing is you’re right. Meta made all these plans way before I came along. Maybe it’s my fault she’s ramping it up so fast, but it would have happened anyway. And it’s weird, right? I get this totally innocent pack wiped off the map, and--” 

“You were a _baby._ ” 

“And now that I’m surrounded by wolves who do know me, who are going through shit I’m not responsible for, now I can finally be some kind of help. But they don’t want me. And I don’t know if I want them.” 

Nile looked as dubious about that as she had downstairs. “I know you don’t think these wolves accept you, but--” 

“If I'm not offering them a job or a place to stay, they don't want anything to do with me,” he answered, flat and certain. 

Nile regarded him for a long moment. 

Joe looked down at the folded papers in his hands, rubbing at a crease with the pad of his finger. 

“Joe. I don't...” Nile frowned, studying Joe's face. “The wolves around here have more respect for you than you think. The night of the full moon--” 

“No. They need me. They use me. They've never respected me for a single moment.” 

“I think you're wrong about that.” She frowned suddenly, peering at him. “Okay, but let me ask you...” 

“What?” 

“Since when have you given a single shit what anyone thinks of you?” 

He blinked. 

Nile reached out and punched him in the arm. “Jesus, Joe, come on. Who cares if they love you or hate you. If you think they need to be looked after, just do it.” She flashed a smile, sudden and startling. “Don't waste either of our time with this 'what've they ever done for me' act. You're a wolf, it's in your DNA to look out for your kind.” 

Joe hesitated, but his mouth curled up at one end. “You're more my kind than they've ever been.” 

Her mouth twitched upwards. “You bet your ass. But that doesn't change anything. If you brush this all aside and let the wolves get railroaded, it's gonna screw you up inside and you know it. And I love you, bro, I do. But you seriously cannot handle getting more screwed up than you are now.” 

Joe smiled reluctantly. 

He wanted to sit there in his black mood, damn it. He wanted to let himself soak up all the injustice in the universe and play the wronged innocent for a while. To think long, miserable thoughts about a pack of wolves and an innocent woman that someone should have avenged. To figure out where this Kaysani line and their apparently bloody history with the fangs fit into it all. 

Fucking Nile. Not even when they were kids would she let Joe get away with that for long. 

Nile's smile softened. "Joe, you know we--" 

"Joe?" 

Nile jumped, and they both turned to the door at the sudden call. "In here, dad." 

Leon pushed the door open, his expression strange. "You've...um. There's someone here asking for you." 

Joe dropped his head, feeling weary all over again. "Not now." 

"No, I'm pretty sure you want to see this one." 

He couldn't summon up the energy to argue. He hauled himself off the bed and went to put those yellowed pages back in the drawer. 

But as he took the letter from Nile’s hand he hesitated, looking down at words he had long-ago memorized. 

He moved to Leon instead, holding them out. "Here. You should have this. Should've had it a long time ago. Maybe it'll explain some things." 

Leon frowned. He glanced at the page and drew in a breath instantly. "This is Francine's writing." 

"Read it. Later. And...I'm sorry. About too much to list it all." 

Leon looked up from the pages and met his eyes. “What...?” 

Joe swallowed and gave his arm a quick squeeze but moved past him into the hallway silently. 

Screaming wolf packs and feds with guns and a woman who just wanted to do the right thing. Adding in a mysterious pack of brown-eyed wolves who were so desperate to survive that they gave their own children away, it was more than Joe could deal with. 

He had never known how to deal with it. From the moment he found out his role in so many deaths, Joe had taken off running and tried not to look back. He couldn't let himself get lost that way again. 

He trudged into the small, crowded living room. 

His weariness slid away a moment later, when he saw who waited for him. If he had been paying attention, he would have smelled him before Leon came calling for him. 

Sebastien seemed calm, standing there with arms at his sides, waiting. But he looked shaken, as badly as he’d ever seen him. There was something under the surface, something rumbling behind his eyes. 

But it was Sebastien, fang and good son to his Mother, and Joe didn’t have the luxury of wondering what had happened to put that look on his face. 

Sebastien met his eyes from across the room and spoke the only words that could possibly have kept Joe from lunging at him. 

"I can take you to Nicky." 


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nicky's rescue is a little anticlimactic, but the battle for him has really just begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mea culpa. Sorry I'm late. I'll try to get the next chapter up this weekend. <3

He took Sebastien to the bar downstairs. It gave them space and privacy, and Joe didn’t want the fang anywhere near his family. Especially Nile. 

Sebastien went where Joe ordered him to go, moving on automatic like he desperately needed someone else to call the shots for a while.

He even spoke flatly, like he was reciting lines. “He’s with Merrick, so nothing can be done tonight. Tomorrow, after the sun rises and the tribe is sleeping...you can wait for us by the entrance doors, and I'll go underground and get him.” 

“Simple as that, huh?” 

Sebastien shrugged. “There’s nothing simple about it. Merrick will know that I’m responsible when Nicky goes missing, because I’m the only one who has seen him and knows where Merrick is keeping him. This isn't like helping you escape during the full moon. There's no going back from this.” 

Joe watched him as he slumped at the bar, his hands folded neatly, his eyes staring unseeing at the wall of bottles behind the bar. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to scream at Sebastien, disbelieve every word he said, or pour him a drink. 

"How did you find me here?" he asked finally. 

"I followed Nicky, when he came to deliver my message. In case you didn't agree to meet with me." 

“Why not tell them? You know they’re looking for me.” 

He didn’t look up. “My future doesn’t lie with Meta and Merrick. Not anymore. I have had to give up too much of myself in the last few weeks. Things have been changing, and I can’t seem to change with them.” 

Joe frowned, but there wasn’t much to see in Sebastien’s profile. Not enough to sniff out truth from lies, and he hardly knew him well enough to know any possible tells anyway. 

“Prove it,” he said finally, folding his arms across his chest and leaning back against the counter, studying him. 

He looked up, but not at Joe. “Prove it?” 

“Lykon.” 

“Who?” 

“A werewolf. Late twenties, Black, went missing the night of the full moon.” 

Sebastien looked down again, fast. Too fast. He sat for a moment, silent, then nodded. “Merrick and some others brought the wolf as a gift. Meta wanted information.” 

“She had to kill Lykon to get it? And what about the others? I have a whole list upstairs. Peter Bridge, Shawn Bledsoe…” 

Sebastien winced. “It only started a few weeks ago. To my knowledge, anyway. Their deaths were no great loss. So Meta said, and so I wanted to believe. It was the only way I could rationalize what she was doing.” He looked at Joe finally, his eyes closed-off. “They never told her a thing. Even the last one, Lykon. He was weak and terrified when Meta questioned him. Still, he never said a thing.” 

Joe looked away from him, his fists clenching and unclenching again and again. 

“Our tribe had never been killers until recently,” Sebastien said after a moment, his voice low. There was a waver there, though, the more he went on. Just enough to take the robotic tone from his words. “Of course, Meta always wanted wolves out of the way. That’s how things have always been between our races. But unlike so many Old World vampires, she was willing to plan, to be smart about it, to use the humans and laws and society to accomplish her goals. Now that has changed.” 

He looked at Joe evenly. “Those wolves the last few weeks...they were sport for her. I see that now. I regret that I didn’t see it before. They were a device, a way to remind her tribe that wolves were disposable. But ever since our first run-in with you, there is no sport in it anymore. She is obsessed, more every day. The tribe, most of them follow her lead unquestioningly. And…it isn’t the family that I joined decades ago. She is not the Mother I once loved. Merrick...” His throat worked, and his eyes seemed even more haunted. “He isn’t the brother I knew.” 

Joe felt no sympathy for Sebastien, even if he sincerely was walking away from his tribe now. He had been an accomplice to wolf murders, his regret had come too late. 

“The fact that they are now willing to kidnap humans to get to you...it proves how far-gone Meta is. We have never taken any action against humans. This is still their world, and she has always insisted that they should never be given any reason to fear us. Now...” 

“Is Nicky hurt?” 

Sebastien frowned at his hands. 

Joe closed his eyes as the inevitable occurred to him. “Merrick bit him, didn’t he? He got him hooked on the venom again.” 

The silence was answer enough. 

Joe pushed off the bar and reached for the nearest bottle. Cheap stuff, but he didn’t need quality, he needed relief. He grabbed a glass, and with a sideways look at Sebastien grabbed a second one. 

Sebastien took the glass he slid across the bar, looking at the whiskey in faint curiosity. 

Joe downed a shot, grimaced, and eyed the bottle. After a moment, he poured a second one, promising to take it slower. 

“I liked Nicky when he was underground,” Sebastien said finally, still regarding the glass. “Even as a child he was full of personality, and curiosity, brimming with questions.” 

Joe couldn’t help but remember Nicky first telling him matter-of-factly that he used to be smart. Joe had laughed at him. 

Sebastien smiled, sad but sincere. “I suppose we’ve both changed. Venom kills everything in humans that make them interesting. His curiosity vanished. But then I suppose it didn’t entirely, because he did ask to leave.” 

Joe downed his shot and poured a healthy third glassful, because fuck it. It didn’t do a thing to warm him inside. “And now he’s right back where he was.” 

Sebastien hesitated, but took a sip of his drink. He gave a contained little shudder. “He’ll be well enough until morning,” was all he said. 

Joe frowned, but knew he was right to wait. The pets and the fangs would all be asleep after sunrise. Sebastien seemed certain he could get Nicky out, so all they could do was wait the long hours until then. 

"Christ." Joe moved around the bar, sliding the whiskey bottle so it was within reach. He sat on the stool beside Sebastien, feeling drained. 

Sebastien turned, eyebrows raised. 

“I don’t trust you,” Joe said after a moment. “You stood back while she killed a dozen wolves. You happily accepted that me and everyone like me should be gotten rid of, and you're only here now because you think they're going too far. Not because you think they're wrong.” 

Sebastien considered that. “I learned everything I know of the supernatural races from Meta. Reeducation isn't an instant thing.” 

"That's why I haven't thrown you out on your ass.” Joe stared at him, searching hard even though he had no idea what to look for. “But let's say I believe you. That you really have just grown apart from your psycho family and are leaving them behind because they've become something you don't want to be.” 

Sebastien waited, his mouth tilting down at the corners. 

“That still doesn't explain why you're here. There's a big difference between leaving your family behind and joining up with a werewolf who hopes they all fry.” 

His brow furrowed, his gaze dropped. Maybe it was something he was still working out for himself. 

“Nicky needs help,” he said finally. “I won't leave him where he is, even if the greatest damage has already been done. You are the only one I know who will defy Meta and take him in.” 

Joe studied his solemn profile, considering that. 

“Also…” Sebastien hesitated, looking around them as if someone might’ve been able to sneak up on two people with supernatural senses. 

“What?” Joe asked after a moment. And if the fang said anything about his sister, he wouldn’t hold himself accountable for his reaction. 

“Meta doesn't think you're the one the stories talk of.” Sebastien turned back to him. “But you are obviously no normal wolf. You survived what no other wolf has, you fight where others run, and you do real damage. You have Meta obsessed, you have her contact with the Primul Născut scared, and there is something real behind that. So... if there’s going to be a war, and I am required to take a side in it... I would rather be on your side than opposed.” 

It hit him then that Sebastien was someone he might be able to ask his questions. He might tell Joe what he knew of the Kaysani werewolves, help him figure out if that might be his own history or not. If Joe trusted him... 

But he didn't. Not yet. And there were more immediate problems. Every time he lost sight of real trouble to dwell on himself it went wrong. 

“Those stories destroyed my life,” he said finally, and though there was a catch in his voice he kept going. “Before I was old enough to have any say in it. At this point I don't give a shit if they're true or not. I don't believe them, and I don't want to.” 

“That hardly makes them untrue.” Sebastien turned on his stool. “You're right, Joe, I know little about you. But when Meta talked of killing you, I knew at once that the world would be diminished without you in it.” He grimaced and took another small sip of whiskey. “I told her about your existence, and then about your survival of Merrick’s bite, and those two things caused enough damage. I stopped giving her news. I suppose I began my defection at that point, I just didn’t realize it yet.” 

He sat back, taking the mostly full glass in front of him and drinking it all down. “I just abandoned my home and my family because of those stories you hate. Because of you.” 

Joe tensed, feeling responsible for too much already. “Even if that's true it obligates me to jack shit,” he snapped in answer, pushing away from the bar and off the stool. “All I want is Nicky and the wolves in this city to be safe and allowed to live their lives. If that means Meta has to go down, then great. But that's the end of it. I'm not taking on the whole fucking race of fangs. I have no interest in prophecies and I'm sure as hell not going to ruin my life trying to become one.” 

Sebastien regarded Joe calmly, then turned back to his glass. “I hope that's a choice you'll be allowed to make.” 

* * *

“You think we look conspicuous?” 

Joe turned a side-eye to Nile. 

She was slouched against the wall, much like Joe, still staring at the closed entrance door to the underground. She was tense – Joe could see it in her shoulders even as she tried to slump casually. 

Yeah, they were conspicuous. They knew they would be. The only time people haunted this street, gaping at that entrance like the groundhog might come out and see his shadow, was at night. Daywalkers didn't give a shit about the entrance to the fang city, unless they were staging a protest around it. 

But it didn't matter. If anyone asked questions, Joe had his sunglasses on to hide his eyes, and his fangs ready to flash as proof that that they should mind their own business. 

So that was a dumb question, but that wasn't what had him staring holes at his sister's profile. 

Nile flashed her eyes over to Joe when he didn't answer, but turned back to watching the entrance again quickly when she saw him looking at her. “What?” 

“You know I didn’t want you to come,” Joe said, slumping back and looking back at the door. 

Nile snorted. “Like it makes any difference if there’s one or two of us here.” 

“Like you’re really here for Nicky,” Joe countered. 

Nile fell quiet for a moment. But honestly, she had to have known that Joe saw through her and her casual interest in this fucking fang. It was half the reason why he’d made Sebastien spend the hours until sunrise downstairs in the bar. 

“What...um.” Nile cleared her throat. “What do you think about him, though? Sebastien. Really?” 

“Not answering that,” Joe answered. 

“Why not?” 

“Because there's no way you just asked it. Not right now, not with all this shit...” Joe heaved a sigh. Sometimes he didn't know why he even bothered. 

“Got something better to talk about?” Nile asked without missing a beat. “We're stuck here until he comes out, you want to wait in silence?” 

“If my only other option is playing The Dating Game with the undead, silence is fine with me.” 

“Luckily I remembered you were an asshole when I asked the question. So what do you think? My instincts say he isn't a bad guy.” 

“You really want to know what I think?” 

Nile shot him a look. 

There was a pause. 

“...sure?” 

Joe lowered his sunglasses and glared over. “I think he’s a fang, and until yesterday he was Meta’s devoted son. I think he let a lot of bad things happen without saying a word, and who knows how much reality aboveground he’ll be able to take before he decides it’s easier to go home and be a good son again. If he's not betraying us now then he will. It's inevitable.” 

Nile looked back towards the entrance to the fang city quickly. “If you really thought that we wouldn’t be here. You would have packed Leon and me up and stashed us somewhere he doesn’t know about, at least.” 

That was true, so Joe couldn’t come up with a quick retort. “I don’t trust him,” he said finally, and that was definitely true. 

“I do.” 

He turned to her fast. “Nile, come on.” 

Her jaw was set and she was anything but casual as she watched the door that Sebastien would supposedly emerge from. 

Joe was getting the horrible feeling that between Nile and the fang, he was going to have to start taking this bullshit seriously. 

He sighed. “You don't know a thing about him.” 

“What do you know about Nicky?” 

“I don't care about Nicky,” he fired back, the lie quick and easy, if unconvincing. 

“And yet here we are.” 

Hard to argue with that, so Joe didn't bother. 

“I can’t explain it, Joe,” she said after a moment, her voice soft. 

He frowned. He looked out across the street again. “If I was any kind of brother, I'd just want you to be happy. Right? Isn't that how the whole family love thing works?” 

He could feel Nile's eyes, but he didn't look over. 

“Ideally, yeah.” Nile sounded like she was trying to smile. “But I wouldn't want you to hurt yourself or anything.” 

Joe almost smiled himself. “Look, Nile. A face like yours and that dumb grin everyone thinks is so cute, and that cocky little sashayyou got going on when you’re working...you could have anybody you want. I just don't see how a fang's gonna fit. I don't see how he'd make you happy for even a minute.” 

“Wouldn't be easy, even if he's interested in getting to know me.” Nile hesitated. “But if it's a mistake, it's mine to make.” 

“Then what do you care what I think about it?” 

“Because you could end it before it starts, and you damn well know it.” 

Joe looked over at her. 

She pushed off the wall and approached him, her eyes way too serious. “Me and dad, we've always taken you as you are, Joe.” 

Joe almost took a step back, but he held himself still and ignored the discomfort curling in his gut. “Yeah.” 

“We've bitched and complained, but we've never told you that anything you do is unacceptable. Because we know if we pulled that, you'd be out of here. Right?” 

A month ago, that would have been an easy question to answer. But Joe died and came back, and he felt older and number than he was. Running used to be his default response, but now he didn't know if he could manage it. 

His silence spoke volumes, but Nile went on without showing any sign that she understood. 

“We let you get away with anything because we know what it's like to lose you. All you have to do is tell me that sniffing around Sebastien is unacceptable, that you'd be out of here if I tried to start something with him. And that would be it. You _know_ it, Joe.” 

Joe shrugged, wanting to look away from Nile's injured eyes but not letting himself off that easily. “So?” 

“So. I'm asking you to give me a chance to make my own mistake, if that's what this is. I don't even know if the guy's noticed me at all, we’ve never had a single conversation. But if he has noticed, and if he turns out to be sincere about changing...I'm asking you to let me have a chance.” 

It hit Joe suddenly, the way it sometimes did at random moments, that he had really fucked his own family up, hard. 

It was usually Leon who made him realize it. Usually some hurt look, some bitten-off word or unnatural silence, that reminded Joe that it was him who turned Leon into an old man before his time. It was him who saw to it that Nile didn't had a normal life. Joe being a shithead, walking out on the only people who ever loved him, making Nile stay behind because someone had to. Bringing his wolves to the bar, to his family, and knowing they would never turn anyone away and so not giving them a choice. 

Nile had a couple of casual relationships that Joe knew about. Some girl in high school right before Joe ran off the first time, who laughed way too much until even Nile was constantly side-eying her. And once when Joe was between absences, this leering guy who touched her way too often and never wanted to come over if he knew Leon or Joe were around. 

No one _real_. No one normal. No one she could have gotten serious about. Nile couldn't have that, and it was Joe's fault she couldn't. 

If Nile was allowed any kind of normal life, she could have had anyone she wanted. Joe was sure about that. Nile was his sister, but he saw the affect she had on people. She was beautiful and smart, sharp as a tack, and had charm enough that the most beaten-down wolf could walk out of Freeman's feeling like he was somebody just because Nile Freeman focused a few minutes on him. 

Sebastien was a fang. A weird, detached fang who had said all of maybe ten words to Nile. But Nile wanted him, or someone, or some _thing_ , so badly that she was begging Joe to let her have it before she even knew if Sebastien was interested. 

Which, of course, Sebastien was. 

Sebastien might never be able to make Nile happy. But maybe he could. Who the fuck was Joe to get in the way, when Joe himself couldn't stop heaping misery on her? 

She was giving him a chance at that moment, a chance to make her happy in some small way. It was more than Joe deserved. 

“I don't like him, Nile. I don't like what he is.” He met her eyes. “But I'm not going to run away. I’m not leaving, okay? Not again, no matter what. That's...” His throat worked and he felt so unbelievably awkward. “That's a promise.” 

He never promised anything to anyone, but it was worth it. Nile's tense face went slack, her mouth curling up in a smile. Her eyes were instantly clear and bright and _happy_. 

“Okay,” she said through her grin. “Good.” 

Joe cleared his throat, looking back at the door across the street. 

“Wait.” Nile moved in close, nudging Joe's arm. “I know you're about to close down and go into dick mode to protect your image, so I just want to say one thing before you do.” 

Joe raised his eyebrows, waiting. 

“I do not _s_ _ashay_.” 

Joe blinked 

Nile tried to look stern, but her eyes were still bright, and her mouth quirked up. 

And Joe caught himself laughing too, quiet under Nile but still real. 

* * *

Merrick wasn't sleeping. 

There was a light on as Sebastien walked into his Mother's home, and a cheerful, familiar tuneless whistle spotting the air down the hall. Merrick was up late, the whistle meaning he probably just came in from a feed. 

The light and sound seemed to be coming from the rarely-used kitchen, but Sebastien didn't go to investigate. He didn't wait for Merrick to sleep, he didn't let himself be distracted for an instant. 

He shut the front door behind him and moved downstairs quietly. His own bedroom door was before Merrick's, and there was so much there he might have let himself be sidetracked by. His books, his journals, his memories of decades of life spent following his Mother before they settled down. His few memories of his human origins. 

He didn't pause, though. His determination was strong, but he had no confidence in his own willpower. Any distraction would have been a mistake. 

Merrick's bedroom door was shut: rare, but understandable. Sebastien opened it and moved in, not bothering with the light as he went to the closet door. 

Nicky was hunched in a corner of the closet. He flinched but didn't stir when the door opened. 

“Nicky.” 

Nothing, even though Nicky knew his voice enough to recognize it. 

Sebastien frowned. There was no lock on the closet door, and Nicky had always had a strong will. He had proved that by leaving the first time. But there he sat, as if held by invisible forces. 

Sebastien crouched and reached for his arms. Nicky didn't react, pliable as a puppet, and Sebastien saw no rope binding his hands, nothing looped around his legs. Nothing that would explain why he hadn't tried to make his own way to freedom. 

“Nicky,” he said again quietly, “we have to go.” 

He didn't move. 

Sebastien had no instincts in this sort of situation. He was horrible at dealing with emotions, and Nicky must have been overwrought. To be changed was an overwhelming thing. To be changed against his will... 

Sebastien couldn't imagine it, and didn't try. He frowned at the bent head of the man he had known since he was a child, and when he reached out again his hesitant hand rested on disheveled brown hair in some way that he hoped might be comforting. 

Nicky flinched, small and contained. 

Sebastien swallowed and spoke as gently as he was able. “Nicky, you have friends waiting. We have to go.” 

Nicky lifted his head a few inches at that, enough for Sebastien to see the furrows in his brow, but his chin started to sink again. 

Sebastien moved quickly, slipping his fingers under the Nicky’s chin and nudging his head up. “Listen to me...” 

His words cut off with a hiss of air, and he saw that his brother hadn't trusted Nicky to stay put after all. The coils of a familiar black rope were looped not around his ankle or wrists, but around his throat. To keep him quiet along with keeping him still? Merrick had said he was being too loud. 

Sebastien stifled a few dark words, his eyes moving upward, following the end of the coiled rope up to where it was tied around the clothing rack over his head. 

Sebastien's fingers slipped from his chin, but Nicky's head didn't sink again. He watched, his eyes a mix of stormy blue and those red flecks like spattered blood. 

Untying the rope would have taken too much time, and Nicky didn't seem to be in a cooperative mood, so Sebastien rose to his feet and reached for the bar. 

“Sebastien?” 

That wasn't Nicky's voice. 

He stilled for a moment, his hands on the bar, but he didn't turn. He gripped the bar and heaved, and the edge of the wooden rack scraped up one side until it dislodged and Sebastien could pull it free. The tied coil of rope slipped from the loose end of the bar and fell to Nicky's feet. 

Sebastien turned then. 

Merrick regarded him, head tilted to one side, eyes sharp and focused as if Sebastien was something entirely unexpected that warranted study. 

“What are you doing?” he asked after a moment, his voice flat. 

Sebastien drew in a breath. “I’m returning Nicky to his friends.” 

Merrick was still, calm. It was unlike him, and it was disconcerting. “No. You aren't.” 

“You will not stop me,” Sebastien answered, his voice somehow steady despite the clenching of his stomach. He turned away from Merrick, crouching again. “Can you walk?” 

Nicky's eyes were on Merrick, wide but still dull, still lifeless. 

“Nicky.” 

Those blue and red eyes slipped to Sebastien slowly. 

“Can you walk?” 

Nicky swallowed and held out his arm. 

Sebastien straightened and reached out, helping him to his feet. The rope was still thick and ugly around his throat, the loose edge, once frayed by Joe's claws, dangling around his knees. He wavered, unsteady on his feet. Sebastien didn't release his arm, since it was obvious he had no strength. 

Sebastien turned. He met the dangerous eyes of his brother, a man he had known and loved longer than anyone else in his life except for Meta himself. 

“You will not stop me,” he said again quietly. 

“No?” Merrick drew in a breath, fists clenching at his sides. “You think because you're my brother I won't--” 

“What is the one law of our kind that Mother values more than any other?” 

Merrick glared with real, dangerous heat. “You don't betray your tribe,” he growled between clenched teeth. 

It hurt, an unexpected sting. Sebastien let it hurt, then let it pass. “No one is to be changed without permission,” he answered calmly. “It is the only one of the Old Laws that Mother treasures.” 

Merrick scoffed, but his eyes went to Nicky. 

“You don't _think_ , Merrick. Not where Nicky is concerned. You never have, but this...” Sebastien could feel the fear shivering through Nicky, could feel the grip on his arm weakening. “This is too much. This is unforgivable, and even you would not get away with it. The moment Meta sees Nicky, and sees what you have done without her permission...” 

“She is my Mother. She will understand.” 

“No. She will realize that this is a threat to her tribe, and she will deal with you accordingly. She loves you, Merrick, but not at the expense of all her other children.” Sebastien slipped an arm behind Nicky's back to brace him as he felt him shuddering. “You know I’m right, or he wouldn’t have been shut away in your closet. But if you think I'm wrong, bring Meta down. Tell her what happened, see if she stops me.” 

Merrick tensed. His throat worked, and his eyes stayed on Nicky's face. There was nothing malevolent in his face when he looked at Nicky. There was nothing simple there at all – there was hunger, and affection, and slowly growing realization. 

He looked at Sebastien like he was confused. “I only made it so that he can't leave.” 

Sebastien never understood his brother. His wild moods, his lack of conscience, his sincere belief that he truly deserved to get everything he wanted. His rashness. Merrick was intelligent enough, but he could shut his mind off entirely in the act of going after a thing he wanted. 

But when his passions cooled his thought returned. Most of the time he had no regrets, but this time he had done something he could not undo, something that threatened everything he had. 

Sebastien said the words that Merrick seemed to be starting to realize. “You have made it impossible for him to stay. He will not stay silent in a closet forever, and the moment he is seen by anyone, you are finished. You and him both.” 

Merrick frowned. “Then you're doing this to protect me?” 

“No.” Sebastien couldn't hesitate to answer that, because it would have been so easy to pretend. He drew in a breath. “I am doing this to help Nicky, and to stop you from hurting him again. But you will let me do this to protect yourself.” 

“Then you _are_ betraying me.” 

“Yes.” Sebastien had to swallow around a lump in his throat. “I am.” 

“If you take him out of here...” Merrick backed up as he spoke, leaving the path to his doorway clear. He sat down on his bed, as if to make it plain that it was Sebastien's decision to make, for good or bad. Nicky was the thing he wanted most in the world, and he was as egocentric a person as Sebastien had ever met. But Merrick knew that Sebastien was right. He knew that what he did to Nicky had ruined everything. 

“If you leave...” Merrick swallowed, and under his constant mask of conceit, he was so obviously hurt and confused that it was painful. “You can't come back,” he finished finally, his voice uneven but his eyes steady on Sebastien. “Betray me now and I won't give you a second chance. If it means the truth must come out, so be it.” 

Sebastien nodded. It was nothing he didn't expect, and the words didn't hurt nearly as much as the pain Merrick tried to hide from him. Merrick's sense of self-importance was real, and he would never understand that Sebastien was taking Nicky away because Nicky simply did not belong to Merrick. 

He would never understand that. Merrick would never be the villain in his own mind. 

But Sebastien had said goodbye to his brother and his Mother and the vibrant underground world the moment he first saw Nicky's terrified red eyes. There was no other choice he could make. 

And so he turned to Nicky, tightened his grip around the wavering newborn vampire, and urged him forward. 

* * *

Nile's laughter still hung in the air, happy and bright, as Joe realized that the door was opening across from them. 

He smacked her arm and silenced her instant complaint with a nod towards the door. 

The sun was dim overhead, still trapped behind cloud and morning, but no doubt even Nile could see the pale, sandy-haired form holding the door open and struggling with an unsteady grasp on… 

Joe tensed. He gripped Nile's arm. “Get back.” 

“What?” 

He pushed Nile behind him. “This is a trick.” 

“What?” 

“That isn't Nicky. It's a fang.” Fucking Sebastien. Fucking lying piece of shit, did he not realize Joe’s nose would clue him in before they even made it across the street? 

It was a good trick; the damned fang sat with him all night to pull this off. Even found a fang with ruffled dark hair to try to keep Joe fooled that much longer. Dark hair and pale skin and square, clever hands, and… 

“Uh...Joe...” 

Joe didn't answer. He didn't push Nile back again when she moved out from behind him. 

Too frail, too unsteady, too graceless. The tip of a fang caught the light as his head rose, and there was red in the huge blue eyes that seemed to focus right on Joe. But there wasn’t a hint of reaction, or recognition. 

The pair swayed dangerously halfway across the empty road, and Joe couldn't move in time to stop Nile from darting out there to meet them. 

He just watched, frozen, as Nile took up Nicky's other arm and helped Sebastien speed him away from that door, that underground city. 

He just stared at those dull, red-flecked eyes as they got closer. 

He recognized three things all at once: this was Nicky, this was a fang, and this was someone who had been completely defeated. 

Joe couldn't move until they were across the street, coming up fast. He backed up a step unconsciously, but they reached him anyway. 

“We need to get him inside,” Sebastien said, and it hit Joe’s ears as if he was talking at the end of some distant tunnel. “The sun is hardest on the newly-changed.” 

Joe couldn't answer that. There was no fucking answer to that. 

He couldn't ask what happened. He couldn't bring himself to scoff, to congratulate Nicky for getting what so many humans wanted, the way he might have a week ago. He couldn't even manage anger at Sebastien, whose silence the night before meant he knew that this had happened, and he just hadn’t warned Joe. He couldn't bring himself to go across the street and burst into that city and find whoever did this...find _Merrick_ and make him suffer for it. 

He couldn't do anything but meet those dull, despairing red eyes and stare. 

“Come on, we have to get the hell away from here.” Nile, from down the same long tunnel as Sebastien. “Joe?” 

Nicky's eyes shuttered and went blank, and he sagged. 

Nile and Sebastien were moving past him then, stumbling the first steps of the long trip home before Joe could even think to ask anything, or to say something that would get Nicky's eyes back up and put life back into him. 

All Joe could do was follow. 


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quynh and Andy get a moment together, finally. Something is obviously very wrong with Nicky, and Leon and Joe have a long overdue heart-to-heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long one today, to make up for it being late. Again.

Quynh never let the beliefs of others alter her in her own course. She had always been far stronger and more stubborn than people took her for. 

She made her own goals, and had since she was a child. She had no patience for those who tried to hold her back. She came across gentle and quiet and easily malleable, but people who believed that of her always learned in time that she was as deeply rooted as a tree when they attempted to push her in a direction she didn't want to go. 

From the moment she was five years old, playing dress-up in her adored step-sister's clothing and insisting to her cousins that she didn’t want to play as rough as they wanted because she was a _girl_ , and that was all there was to it...ever since then she had never left the path she made for herself. 

Of course, their wealthy, conservative parents didn’t take her announcement with the same easy acceptance that Celeste did. Her father - who she realized now hated both of his children and had before this ever came up - kept dressing her in suits for family dinners, cutting her hair short, calling her the birth name she refused to answer to. 

Celeste, though. She had been Quynh’s salvation. All they had was each other, and because they were close, Celeste saw and understood what was happening even before Quynh fully understood the term for it. She would offer her quiet support when Quynh spent her allowance on skirts, on bright fitted shirts, on lipstick and strappy sandals she loved to wiggle her toes in. 

Celeste would watch Quynh dress up in those clothes, at first with smiles and claps like it was a fashion show, and in later years, around the time that Quynh started investing in bras and socks to stuff in them, with sad eyes. 

Quynh wasn't sad, even back then. She was simply different, and at first she didn't understand it. But she and Celeste, they were students. When they didn't understand something, they went out in search of knowledge. When they found it, the sadness faded from Celeste’s eyes. 

Body dysphoria, the idea of it, hadn't been scary for Quynh. It had been a relief. A name, finally, for the way she felt trapped inside of skin that didn't always feel like hers. A disease of the mind, some research said. Quynh disagreed. She _was_ her mind, after all. She wasn’t sick in the head, and she wasn’t sick in the body. She simply disagreed with what everyone told her that body meant about her. She preferred going another way. 

From there it was a simple decision. Dysphoria was real, her feelings had always been legitimate, so she was simply going to live the way she had always wanted to live, openly and honestly. 

Her parents disapproved, rejected her, cast her out, told their friends she was away at school. But they also kept her on their insurance, and signed forms whenever she needed them to. She knew they didn’t love her, not really. They didn’t even love Celeste, their newly fanged pride and joy. Quynh thought maybe they weren't capable of love at all.

But their money kept her quiet, and so everyone won. 

She had found the safest place to hide that she could, though the last few years she was no longer worried about passing, about being mistaken for the son of the mayor from old pictures. She doubted her own father would know her anymore. 

But she had always been quiet and odd and happiest alone, or with Celeste. As long as Celeste kept in touch, and Quynh could go visit, she had no complaints. 

All of that meant that Quynh understood, in a painful and visceral way, why Andy fought the way she did. She didn't always approve of _how_ Andy fought, but she always understood why. She had no time for limitations, and no love for those who tried to shackle her, and she loved Andy for feeling the exact same way. 

Maybe it was wrong of her, to be so proud of her lover for taking steps that might have ended up hurting her cause. But Quynh didn’t overthink it. 

“When I first got bitten...” 

Quynh stirred from her quiet study of Andy when Andy spoke. She was sitting at her desk as if she were planning another of her broadcasts, but Quynh had been watching her for a while, and she was simply still. 

Quynh moved into the room. The tea she’d made was lukewarm; she'd been studying her for too long. She set it beside Andy’s arm anyway and placed her hands on tense shoulders. 

Andy sat still, hand twitching towards the cup but not reaching to take it. There were papers on the narrow second-hand table she used as a desk, not the usual newspaper articles or computer printouts. 

The top one, the one her other hand lay over, was a letter. Handwritten, in print so neat it could have been typeface. 

Andy’s fingertips skimmed that letter as she talked. “When I first got bitten, they acted like I was dead. The way the families always act. It made the news and everything. I had a good job, from a middle-class family, even had a tragic girl I'd dated enough times that she could get away with sobbing on camera. You'll never know how surreal it is watching a news story like that while you unpack your bags in your new shithole city-sponsored housing unit.” 

Quynh would never know, so she didn't bother trying to empathize. She was estranged from her own parents, but she didn’t doubt she would be mourned if something like that happened to her. They would at least grab the free publicity while they could, and Quynh shuddered to think what her father would use that publicity for. 

She carded her fingers through Andy's short dark hair and murmured a wordless sound to show she was listening. 

Andy tilted her head back just slightly, leaning into her touch. “My folks were always conservative. They never had much interest in wolf politics, even after I was bitten, but only because it's considered such an ugly, common sort of thing. Like immigration or gay rights, or welfare. It's politics for the common people, and they never wasted their time on it.” 

Her work-calloused fingers skimmed over the words on that letter under her hand, back and forth. 

Quynh loved Andy because she had never let herself believe in her own limitations. She was subjected to so many – all werewolves were, and most werewolves came to believe in those limitations. Most werewolves ended up grateful for the small joys and tolerating the huge injustices. But for Andy those things had never been acceptable. 

She was the first werewolf who ever spoke to Quynh. 

It was rare that wolves would approach humans in general. They were a race that tended to cluster together. But Andy had been changed into a wolf, not born into it, and when Quynh met her she had only been wolf for a matter of months. 

She simply appeared at her side early one morning, while Quynh looked out from the marina towards Whidbey Island, not consciously thinking about anything at all. 

“Enjoying the view?” came her voice, amused and casual, and Quynh was shocked when she looked over and met yellow wolf eyes. 

“I am,” she answered, and somehow she couldn't keep from returning her easy, sunny smile. 

“What a coincidence,” Andy said in answer, her grin going crooked as she gazed at Quynh. “So am I.” 

It was a ludicrous enough sort of pick-up line that Quynh laughed. Andy proceeded to give her examples of all the far-worse pick-up lines she'd thought about using. 

Quynh had never laughed so hard in her life. 

She didn't have a telephone number to give at the time, but Andy asked if she might be enjoying the view on that bridge again. There they met the next day, and the next, until it was harder to leave than to stay. 

It never occurred to Andy that werewolves shouldn't speak to humans. Quynh refused to believe that this charming and beautiful woman didn't deserve her respect because she was a werewolf. When Quynh told Andy vaguely about her past, and let her know, proud and matter of fact, that under her clothes things weren't as clear-cut as they appeared, Andy simply shrugged and said she was ready to know whenever Quynh was ready to show her. 

The world outside of their apartment pressed everyone in on every side with dos and don'ts, with guidelines and rules and limitations. Inside their small, worn little home, they could adore each other without caring about any of that. 

Andy turned in her unsteady chair, picking up that letter and holding it out. “Late last year my mother sent me this.” 

Quynh took the letter, glanced at the neat, elegant writing, but looked back at Andy instead of reading. 

“Some state senator my parents have given money to in the past was starting to talk about enacting breeding laws for werewolves.” She rolled her eyes, but there was real anger underneath. “'Breeding.' We don't have children, you know. We birth litters.” 

Quynh met her eyes, reaching down again to slip her fingers through her hair, nudging dark strands out of her face. 

Her expression softened slightly. “The law never did have much chance of going anywhere. But my mother wrote me to tell me how odd it was that she heard his ideas for this law and suddenly realized that he was talking about her future grandchildren. She said that for the first time someone spoke out against werewolves, but she heard my name instead.” 

Quynh understood then that she wasn't distracting herself from the last few days, from Lykon or from Joe – and Quynh – discovering the truth about the wolf who harmed so many humans during the last few months. 

This wasn't distraction. Quynh suspected it was entirely related. 

Andy reached for the letter Quynh hadn't bothered to read, folding it carefully. “I talked about it on my broadcast that night. Not the letter itself, but the idea behind it. That because I was turned by a wolf, there are two humans out there who now realize that wolves are people, that they have names and families. And not just two: who knows how many friends or family I have who now put my face on the idea of ‘werewolves’ and can’t just dismiss us as monsters.” 

She looked up at Quynh, her eyes bright and honey-colored with emotion. “It seemed like a solution. If more humans out there could learn to see werewolves as individuals, more might speak out against the laws. If one human gets turned, his parents, his kids, his wife, his friends, his coworkers and boss and neighbors...suddenly all of them have a face to put to the werewolf name. Suddenly we aren't distant, we're the people who used to live and work right beside those apathetic fucking humans. We're close. We can no longer be dismissed so easily.” 

She hesitated, searching Quynh’s face. 

Quynh had always been calm, always been thoughtful and honest and careful with her judgments. Andy valued her opinion because she only gave it when she was ready. 

She wasn't ready yet, so she simply nodded her understanding. “The idea makes sense.” 

Andy let out a breath. “I took it too far. I should have known that I was being too hopeful. I was putting too much value on what _might_ happen. I didn't think about the other consequences.” 

“Andy.” Quynh stroked her fingers lightly through that soft dark hair. "I do understand."

Andy sighed, turning in her chair. She dropped the letter back on the desk and leaned in, resting her elbows on the desk and rubbing her face with her hands. “Joe's never going to forgive me.” 

Quynh made a soft, unkind sound in her throat, moving in behind her and leaning in, folding her arms around Andy and resting her chin on Andy’s hair. “Joe had no right to touch you.” 

Andy waved a hand without looking up, dismissive. “If our positions were reversed and he tried to stop me from protecting you, I'd've done worse than just pushing him. Who would have thought that he’d decide to care about someone someday, and it would be some human pet I’ve never even heard of.” She sounded for a moment like she was smiling. “Besides, you've seen Joe's temper. He was taking it easy.” 

She seemed to think about those words, lifting from the cradle of her hands and leaning back against Quynh. “Maybe he's already forgiven me. Maybe he understands.” 

Quynh didn't answer. She would need a little more time before she forgave Joe. He was like a brother to Andy - and so to Quynh too - and she respected him and what he did and the life he forced himself to live. But he had touched Andy in anger, and Quynh would never respect anyone enough to make that okay. 

“Doesn't matter, as long as he's willing to jump in and help when things go bad.” Andy reached up, stroking the arm Quynh had wrapped around her shoulder. “As long as he realizes that the full moon and everything that happened afterward is just the beginning.” 

* * *

“You were right last night,” Sebastien said into the still, tense air of Joe’s cramped old bedroom. 

Nicky lay on that too-small bed, eyes shut, utterly still. No breathing, no heartbeat thudding through him. As good as dead. Apparently the change happened in human bodies faster than in freak werewolves. 

“Meta shouldn’t have trusted Merrick. She made Merrick promise that no harm would come to Nicky, but he’s too obsessed with Nicky to be trusted. He bit him, drugged him with venom, and at some point, before I even knew Nicky had been caught, Merrick fed Nicky his blood. He turned him deliberately, and without permission. I knew it last night, yes, but I wasn’t sure you would help me get him to safety if you knew he was turned.” 

Joe just stared at Nicky, unable to answer. Turned without Meta’s permission. Meta had just told Joe all about the consequences of that happening. 

Turned against Nicky’s will, and what the repercussions to that might be he had no idea. 

“She said it was your most important law,” he said finally, his voice hoarse. “She said it was sacred. Why would Merrick break his own laws?” 

“I said your name.” 

Joe sucked in a harsh breath. 

Nicky’s eyes didn’t open. They squeezed more tightly shut. But he spoke again, voice raspy. Like he’d been screaming. “He tried to get me into bed, and I wanted it to be you. It _was_ you, in my head, with the venom blurring things. He said...this way you would never want me. And I could never leave him.” 

Joe opened his mouth, then shut it. 

He had to push past Leon and Nile to get out of that back hall, and though he heard Leon’s voice asking a question as he tore down the hall, none of them tried to stop him. 

* * *

Sebastien ran away when he couldn't handle things. It was a habit Merrick had grown used to over the long years. Sebastien would rather turn tail and vanish for hours then stay put and deal with Merrick's temper. 

But he was taking too long this time. 

There was Nicky, of course, standing between them. But Merrick wasn't stupid – he was willing to accept that he _perhaps_ went a step too far with Nicky, and no doubt it was in his best interest that Meta never, ever find out what he did. 

Besides, so far Nicky was absolutely no fun at all as a vampire. A disappointment. Boring, with his tears and his moaning, and Merrick had little patience for boredom. 

So really, Sebastien was already mostly forgiven for this latest brash move of his, and the latest retreat to escape from Merrick's temper. 

But he still wasn't back, and that was just odd. 

Maybe he took Merrick's words seriously, his whole 'you can never come back here' line. But no, Merrick was always saying things like that. He was always telling Sebastien he'd never forgive him or he hated him forever or he never wanted to see him again. One of Sebastien's great strengths was that he was smart enough to never take Merrick at his word. 

This time...well, it did feel a little different when Merrick was saying it. But that didn't mean it _was_ different. Just because he acted like Sebastien was betraying them all, and Sebastien said that he _was_ betraying them... 

Just because that felt different than it had in the past didn't mean it was. Just because Sebastien walked out into the street in sunlight with Nicky in his arms didn't mean he wasn't coming back. 

Just because he returned Nicky to his...his _friends_... 

And honestly, what sort of friends did he have, anyway? Other whores, other ridiculous children throwing themselves at anyone with the money to pay. 

Whores and werewolves. But Sebastien hadn't meant the werewolf. He couldn't have, not in a million years. 

Merrick's thoughts got more convoluted the longer Sebastien was gone. He slept a bit, visited another favorite Devoted, re-hung his clothes – and honestly, not bad enough Sebastien had to go flashing his temper, he had to take it out on Merrick's closet – and the whole time his mind went around and around in circles. 

Sebastien and Nicky and wolves. 

Sebastien saying that yes, he was betraying Merrick. That he was taking Nicky to his friends, when the only 'friend' Sebastien knew of was the wolf. The wolf that Meta herself despised so much. The wolf who was an enemy to their tribe. 

In the end, as a new day began to dawn and Sebastien was nowhere to be seen, Merrick started to think he was missing something that he wouldn't be able to put together on his own. 

That thought took him upstairs, to Meta's rooms, and had him knock on the door to her office. 

When she opened the door, Merrick spoke the few things that he was certain of, the things Sebastien told him plainly, and waited to see what Meta would make of it. “Sebastien has betrayed us. He's taken Nicky to Joe.” 

Meta peered at him closely. “Joe?” 

“The wolf. Sebastien didn’t tell you his name?” 

He watched in interest as her eyes flickered and dimmed, as confusion appeared and was chased away by doubt, then utter disbelief. Then, acceptance. Just like that, in moments. 

Meta had lived too long to ever truly be surprised by anything. 

It was the acceptance, and the dark flood of anger that in turn followed that, that made Merrick wonder if Sebastien might not be coming back. 

“It seems I have a position available for a new lieutenant,” she said, moving back into her office, leaving the door open for Merrick to follow. 

Merrick blinked in curiosity when he saw Celeste, the youngest of the tribe, sitting there across from Meta's desk, as if they were discussing serious things when Merrick interrupted. Beside Celeste, in another tall chair, sat a broad human man Merrick had seen visiting the underground before. A man whose eyes were suddenly yellow. 

Before Merrick could ask why there was a werewolf underground and why his Mother seemed to be holding a conference with it, Meta sat at her desk and smiled at Celeste. 

“Do you think you are ready for a fight, my daughter? Could you stand at my side, with your brother, and wage this battle with us?” 

Celeste? The newest child, the quiet woman with a soft spot for Devoted, and her human (werewolf?) boyfriend, and her nose always in books? 

Merrick gaped at his Mother. 

But Celeste spoke, saying “I'm ready to fight,” in a tone of voice that was firm, almost cold. And Merrick regarded her in a new way. 

There was strength in her eyes, anger and hardness that Merrick hadn't seen before from her. It was kind of hot. 

Beside her, the huge werewolf-boyfriend nodded once, as if anyone asked his opinion. 

Merrick considered that, and considered what his Mother might want with a werewolf in the first place if not to feed from him, and he realized that this was yet another plan of Meta's that he simply didn't understand entirely. 

Merrick – who was, after all, not Sebastien – could handle that. He was fine with not understanding, and his faith in his Mother was unshakable. 

He grinned at Celeste. It would be interesting getting to know a new sister. 

* * *

Joe didn't specifically ask for Leon's help; Joe had made it abundantly clear that he would never ask for anyone's help. 

What he _did_ do was complain that he had too much to do to tend to some newborn vampire - and what the hell would he know about how to help one anyway? - until Leon gave in and volunteered to look after the guy. 

And now, as he stood there regarding the darkened room and the weak stranger in Joe's childhood bed, Leon had to admit that he had absolutely no clue what he was doing. He knew even less about vampires than Joe, and nothing about the care of a newborn. 

He spoke to Sebastien, the vampire who was sitting in Leon's living room looking like he himself had nowhere to go, but the fang wasn't a lot of help. He was stuck in his own kind of funk. Or maybe all fangs were moody and quiet. 

The kid – Nicky, who wasn’t a kid at all – looked like he was sleeping, but Leon knew better. He recognized the small hitches in breath, the little flinches as Leon's footsteps brought him in closer. Leon had to deal with Joe and his utter hatred of school, and Nile with her thousand more exciting things to do. He knew a faker when he saw one. 

But this guy wasn't faking a cough to get out of a test. Leon could tell he was awake, but that was just about as far as his knowledge went. He just didn't have any kind of experience to call upon now. 

Leon approached the bed. 

He had a cup of tea in his hands, and in the face of that wan, shadowed face it seemed like such a ridiculous panacea. He set it down on the little table by the bed, gently moving one of Joe's old sketches to make room. 

He hesitated, but no brilliant opening line hit him. He reached out, telling himself that this was someone's kid even if he wasn't Leon's, and he touched a cool arm gently. 

Nicky didn't move, didn't flinch away. But he drew in a syrupy breath, and his eyes opened. 

Leon had to bite back an audible reaction. The red in Nicky's eyes was so startling from this close that it was eerie. Even when Joe’s eyes had been going red they had never been this extreme. Leon wasn’t even sure Sebastien’s eyes were that full-on red. 

It was worrying. 

He wasn't stupid enough to say so, of course. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked simply. 

Nicky looked up at him as if the words were in some incomprehensible language. 

Leon cleared his throat. “I talked to that...uh, Sebastien. For a few minutes. He says you'll be weak for a while, sore all over. And you'll start getting...hungry...” Nicky flinched, and Leon almost echoed it. “But you should be okay.” 

His throat worked. He didn't speak. 

Leon nodded at the mug by the table. “You don't need this, I guess, but sometimes a cup of tea can be...well.” 

Nicky looked over at the mug, then back at Leon. His mouth moved, formed the word 'thanks', and a sound came out that wasn't quite an actual word. 

Leon relaxed, though, sitting back on the edge of the bed and considering the man in front of him. 

His mother was a Devoted, Nile had told Leon. He had no one else. 

He wasn't the first to come to this house for help. He was the first vampire, though. The first whose problems wouldn't be solved with a dingy apartment and less-than-minimum-wage job. 

Nicky made no motions towards the tea. He didn't move, didn't try to sit up. Didn't speak again. He fixed his eyes on some middle-distance hovering around Leon's chest, and he lay there. 

Leon cleared his throat again. “I understand that you can't go back underground with...the other...” 

Nicky flinched. 

Leon sighed, but went on. “The other vampires. You can stay here as long as you need to, if you don't mind me hovering...or the fact that you're in a bed we bought for a twelve-year-old boy two decades ago.” 

Nicky’s mouth quirked slightly. His eyes focused on Leon. “I've been...” he started, his voice a croak, and Leon's eyes went to the bruised red skin around his throat where they had to cut off a tightly-wound black rope. 

He swallowed and tried again. “I've been trying to get into Joe’s bed for weeks. I should be happy.” 

Leon smiled. Humor was a good sign: the still dullness hanging over Nicky seemed far too out of character given the couple of times Leon had met him before. 

Nicky stilled, looking up at Leon. He swallowed again to ease his next words. 

“I don't want you to think I'm ungrateful,” he said, the words slow. “I am not normally so... dramatic,” he added with a small smile. 

Leon smiled back. 

“But you shouldn’t waste time with me,” he finished. 

Leon's smile vanished. “I wouldn't call it a waste of time.” 

Nicky glanced over at the mug of tea. “Thank you for this, but I won't drink it.” He looked back at Leon. “When I get hungry, if I do...I won't eat. I can't.” 

“Hey, Nicky. I know it sounds--” 

“Please.” He met Leon's eyes, smiling again. 

Leon didn't return it. There was something wrong in that smile. 

“I’m not looking for an argument, or...pep talk. I am glad I'm here, because I didn't want to die in a closet. I am grateful. But I won't eat.” 

Leon hesitated. 

If he'd been crying or furious or even stone silent, Leon would have known what to do. He wasn't sure how to respond to this flat calmness. 

He drew in a breath and tried the first thing he could think of, knowing what he knew of Nicky. “Joe's a little caught up right now by the wolves they're holding in prison, but he's going to be by. He's gonna want to know you're okay.” 

Nicky's smile dimmed, but didn't vanish. “I shouldn't be surprised that you know to use him against me.” 

Leon studied him. There was intelligence in those strange eyes, more than he would have guessed after hearing Joe talk about him. The lack of self-consciousness wasn't a surprise. 

He shrugged. “If you were trying to be subtle about your notions towards my son all this time...” 

“I've never been good at subtle,” Nicky answered with a soft laugh. 

Leon's smile was more sincere then. 

Intelligent or not, self-conscious or not, this was a man who needed something to lean on. He hid it well – the humor he was putting on seemed genuine – but Leon was used to dealing with two kids who tried to hide much of themselves from him. Joe hid to save himself from pain. Nile hid for Leon's sake, in hopes that Leon wouldn't recognize how lonely and low she could sometimes get. 

He wasn't sure what Nicky was hiding from, or for, but Leon was a father and this guy needed one. 

“I can't tell you what Joe thinks, or how he feels.” Leon met Nicky's strange eyes. “But I can tell you that when he found out that you were in danger he considered nothing as important as getting to you.” 

Nicky drew in a breath, but his expression didn't change. “Joe seems to enjoy thinking that the weight of the entire world belongs on his shoulders. Even when he hates that idea, he won't let it go.” 

Leon was surprised by that, by the insight of it. 

“He loves you. You and Nile. I can tell when he talks about you.” Nicky lay back, looking over for a moment at the partially crumbled drawing of a frog. “I'm not dumb enough to think that he came for me out of anything but a sense of obligation.” 

Leon wanted to argue – he could feel this nervous itch in his gut telling him that he _had_ to argue – but he couldn't. He had long since given up trying to read Joe's mind. 

“I tried to tell myself...and Nile, and Joe...that it didn't matter how he felt. That I was happy just feeling the way I felt. But it's not true. It is exhausting to love someone who doesn't like you.” His hand twitched, coming up between them as Leon opened his mouth to argue. “Wait. It doesn’t even matter.” He waved a heavy hand towards the teacup. “When I say I won't drink or eat, it's not about Joe. It's about me. I won’t live on blood. I won’t turn other humans into what I was, I won’t take anyone’s mind away from them. I can't _be_ this thing I've been turned into, and that's all this is about.” 

Leon frowned, his stomach starting to curl in apprehension. “Joe saved your life. Maybe it's not about him, but you owe him something, don't you?” 

Nicky laughed, small and stuttered. “He didn't save me to save me. He only wanted to anger the vampires who had me.” It was strained, like the confession of a long-held fear. “It never had a thing to do with me.” 

“That may be true,” Leon said fast, “but it doesn't change the fact that--” 

“He despises vampires. I’m a vampire now.” Nicky smiled again, small and joyless and dull. “He'll be doubly happy when I'm no longer here. It can be a gift to him. The only one I'm capable of giving anymore.” 

Leon had no idea what happened when a human became a vampire. He had no idea what it was like in the best of times, much less what it did to someone when it was forced onto them. He didn't know if Nicky’s words were melodrama, or muted, or completely justified. 

He did know that he raised two kids who could bullshit with the best of them, and he could sniff out insincerity like he was half wolf himself. 

So he knew that, dramatic or not, Nicky meant every word he said. 

* * *

“God _damn_ it!” Joe slammed down the bar phone and made a fist to keep himself from reaching for something to throw. Fucking Andy, she was ignoring Joe’s calls, sure as anything. 

“If I had to guess, I'd say you were irritated.” 

Joe twisted, aiming a glare at the offending voice that didn't even fade when he realized who it was. 

Leon looked back at him, trying for innocent but the sardonic little eyebrow-raise gave him away. “It's hard to tell, you're so subtle.” 

Joe snorted and moved around Leon and away from the phone. He debated going back upstairs, but there was nothing up there except a couple of fangs. 

He moved around to the front of the bar. They were closed: Leon had put a sign on the door that morning saying there was temporary remodeling being done. Werewolves would have been able to smell the fangs upstairs, and there was no explaining that away. 

But they had heard few people even approaching to try the doors. The whole block outside seemed to be emptier than normal. If any of their regular customers felt like socializing after the last few nights, they seemed to have found somewhere else to do it. 

It was disconcerting. Like maybe everyone knew something that Joe didn’t. 

He dropped on a stool and resisted the urge to smack his head right down into the bar. "I’m sorry I brought this here, Leon. I can’t...I don’t even know what to..." 

Leon didn't answer for a moment, and Joe looked up at him. 

His eyes were way too serious. "You need to go talk to him." 

"Sebastien? Nicky." Joe ignored the little tug in his gut, the pangs of a conscience that he wished would shrivel up and die already. 

"He's going to let himself die." 

That made him blink. "What?" 

"He won't eat. The other one, Sebastien, he said hunger pangs for the newborns are bad. He volunteered to find him a source, a pet or something, but Nicky says he can't...and I think he's serious, Joe. He's got no intention of doing what he's got to do to live through this." 

Joe looked down at the bar. "Leon, come on. He'll eat when he's hungry enough." 

"I don't think he will." Leon sounded like he was frowning, but Joe didn't look up to see it. "I’ll keep an eye on him, because he’s under my roof and nobody’s dying in my house. But if anyone can help this guy, it isn't me." 

"It's sure as hell not me." Joe dropped his head in his hands, rubbing at grainy eyes with his palms. "You heard what he said. Him getting bit was because of me. Him being down there at all was because of me. I met this guy less than a month ago, and I have _destroyed_ him. If he doesn't hate me by now it's just a matter of time."

He shook his head, letting his eyes stay closed for a long, self-indulgent moment. “I haven't heard a single update about the wolves sitting in jail. Andy’s on Whidbey right now probably plotting a jailbreak but who the fuck knows because she’s not answering her phone and since I haven't seen my cell phone since the full moon I have no idea if she's tried calling me. Your place is turning into a fang hostel, and somewhere under my feet Meta is probably getting pissed that I haven't called by now.” 

Leon, because he was a sharp guy who didn't miss the important things, straightened and frowned at Joe instantly. “Meta.” 

He _really_ wanted to face-plant on the bar and have a nap. Instead he just nodded. Maybe this lack of resistance to telling Leon the truth was the way his body was manifesting its exhaustion. “She made me an offer, when I went out to find...” He nodded upwards towards the apartment, where their newborn fang was shut up in Joe’s old room. 

Leon nodded. 

“Yeah.” Joe grimaced. “Anyway, Meta was waiting for me. Fed me this line of bullshit you wouldn't even believe. Seriously, Leon, I was right there listening to it and I still don't believe it. She said I never should've been changed, but now that I have it means I share their blood. I'm one of the tribe now, if I want it.” 

“And if you don't want it?” Leon regarded him, not laughing the way he should have been. 

It was a joke, right? No reason not to laugh. 

Joe shrugged. “Then I'm doomed to die with the rest of the mongrels. Or some kind of dramatic crap like that, anyway.” 

Leon was quiet for a moment, and when he spoke Joe remembered that it wasn't just his grouchy ass privacy fetish that kept his mouth shut around his family. It was also because Leon and Nile saw too damned much. 

“But you haven't answered her yet.” 

One little sentence, and Joe knew that Leon had him pinned. “I came and stole Nicky from under her nose, that’s probably answer enough.” 

“Why not just tell her to go to hell in the first place?” 

Joe scowled up at Leon. “Because.” 

He lifted an eyebrow. “If it's such a joke then it should be easy.” 

Joe glared at him, but it wilted after a few seconds. “I told Nile...” He laughed and it sounded hollow. “I can't get over it. How many werewolves have I helped? How much do wolves go on and on about loyalty and the importance of connections and pack and family? I'm one of them, Leon.” 

Leon moved away, but only to reach for the whiskey Joe couldn't bring himself to ask for a minute ago. 

Joe watched him, and it was easier to talk with Leon looking away. “I may not be just like them, maybe I wasn't from their packs, maybe I smelled wrong and had brown eyes all those years, but I was a wolf and they damn well knew it.” 

Leon moved back over with the bottle and a couple of glasses. He slid one across the bar and tilted a pretty skimpy shot into it. 

Joe reached out and traced his finger absently over the rim of the shot glass. “Maybe I'm feeling sorry for myself, I don't know. But a pack was destroyed because of me, my ancestors apparently get hunted down for sport. My mother's long gone. I'm an obligation to you and Nile, I'm an embarrassment to these loyal, devoted wolves. For the first time in my entire life someone...picked me. Actually _asked_ me to be part of something. A family.” His voice sneered out that last word, but the contempt was half-assed. 

It was pathetic. He knew it, and he heard it as he listened to himself talk. It was pathetic for someone in his thirties to still be such a child about never fitting in anywhere. 

He took the glass and shot the whiskey in a quick, easy swallow. Leon had the bottle open and tilting before the glass was even back on the bar. 

Joe sighed. “I know it's bullshit. That's the worst thing. I know it's a trick, because there's no way Meta would ever invite a wolf into her tribe. Even a freak wolf with fangs. I know it's a lie, but even so...it's still the only time...” He trailed off, annoyed. “Jesus, I'm ridiculous.” 

“Francine was the one who proposed to me. I ever tell you that?” 

Joe looked up. 

Leon regarded him, eyebrows raised. 

Uncertain, he folded his hand around the glass. “No.” 

“Yep. Went out with her a few times, back when no one was in the mood to get serious about anything. It was fun, we knew a lot of the same people. I saw her around a lot. Thought she was pretty great, but for a long time we were just having a good time.” 

Joe smiled faintly, trying to picture a younger Leon in the middle of some wild group of pals, sleeping around and damning the consequences. Maybe it was always hard to picture a parent that way, but with Leon it was almost impossible. Leon had been bowed down by consequences as far back as Joe could consciously remember. 

“When she used her name and money to adopt you, to stop you being a tool used to hurt werewolves, that’s when things started getting real. We talked over all the options. She knew she could do it alone if she had to, she was the most capable woman I ever met. But she said...” He smiled, his eyes going a little distant. “'Time to grow up.' That's how she put it. If I had done it, proposed, I’d’ve had flowers everywhere, music on, lighting, ring, whole thing. But she just gave me that grin of hers and asked if I was ready to grow up with her.” 

Joe wanted to smirk or chuckle or something, but his fingers clenched the narrow shot glass and he couldn't help but see the exhaustion in Leon's eyes. 

“Asked me to marry her just like that, over hash browns.” Leon toyed with his own untouched whiskey. “She wanted to get serious, and somehow I was smart enough to figure out that getting serious along with her was the right move. I wanted what she was getting herself into. I wanted to help her, and I wanted it for myself. Family.” He smiled, shadowed like it always was when he talked about his wife. 

Joe sat up, forgetting the whiskey. There was a roll in his gut, a flare of instinct that put him on her guard. 

Leon looked across at him. His grin faded. “Everyone told us we were being ridiculous. We weren't. We were being way more clear-headed and less emotional than most newlyweds. We were forming a family, consciously, because we trusted each other.” He hesitated then. “Then, a few years down the line, she got pregnant with Nile. And we had a choice to make.” 

Yeah. There it was. There was the reason his instincts were tensing him up, preparing him for something heavy. Joe stared at his hands, at the glass rolling between his palms. 

“Francine sat me down for a talk about it a couple months before her due date. She wanted to know what I thought about having a newborn baby, dealing with that kind of chaos, with a child werewolf in the house. She asked me if I thought we ought to find another home for you. A wolf pack somewhere, maybe, where you wouldn't have to hide what you are.” 

Leon leaned in, reaching out and laying his hand near Joe’s on the bar. Not touching, just coming in close. 

“It was never a question, Joe, don't tell yourself anything different. She was only prepared to hear one thing, and it was the only answer I was able to give. Nile would be our child, yeah, but you were our family.” 

Joe’s sandpaper eyes got alarmingly hot. He bent his gaze further down and didn't answer. 

Leon didn't push him. He stood back after a moment, leaving his untouched drink beside Joe’s hand. 

“You only think Meta's the first one to choose you because you were too young to know the other times it's happened. Francine chose to bring you home, and we both chose to keep you when we realized what you were. And maybe this is something I should have said to you years ago, but I’ll at least say it now: I’m _glad_ we made that choice. I’m so _proud_ of...” Leon’s voice went uneven, but he cleared his throat and went on. “I’m so proud of you that the only thing that hurts is thinking I came so close to never getting a chance to be your dad.” 

Joe didn't risk an answer; his throat was so tight that he was pretty sure any noise he made would be unintelligible. 

Leon turned away, his back to Joe as he went to shelf the bottle of whiskey. “Someday, kid, you're gonna accept that the reason why me and Nile are always ready to welcome you back is because you were never just an obligation to us. Only reason we never formally invited you into our family it's because you were always a part of it.” 

It fucking hurt. It did, and there was no sense in it. It stabbed at Joe like a blade in the gut. It dripped down his face, all heat and salt and this feeling like every time he’d ever run away he was only punishing himself. 

Leon looked back at Joe as Joe scrubbed at the tears leaking down his face, but didn’t come over. He gave him at least that little bit of space. 

“You call Meta back and tell her whatever you want,” he said, casual, unworried. “But whatever choice you make, make it for the right reasons.” 

Joe had never been good at letting himself be weak. And though he knew Leon wouldn’t see tears as weakness, he still couldn’t bring himself to look up and expose himself and his emotions to Leon’s eyes. 

But he did what he could. He looked at the bottles behind the bar, sure Leon could see his profile, and he grinned unevenly. “Come on, you know damn well what I’m gonna tell Meta.” 

Leon chuckled. “Well, I don't know _exactly_. You’re more creative with your profanity than I am, no doubt you’ll say some things I wouldn’t think of. But I’m pretty sure I’ve got the gist.” 

The phone trilled between them suddenly. 

Leon sighed, but Joe couldn’t help but notice the number on the display. 

He reached for it fast, scrubbing at his face as if she’d be able to see through the phone. 

“Hey,” he said into the phone. “Where the hell have you been?” 

“Right here. So sorry I’m too busy to drop everything when you call. There’s a lot to do.” Andy's voice was all but vibrating, intense and awake and...something. Something bad. 

Joe frowned, eyes sliding to the locked front door. “What did you do now?” 

“Okay, see, that’s the wrong kind of attitude to take, Joe.” 

Joe growled to himself. 

Leon moved in and leaned across the bar to nudge that second shot of whiskey closer to his hand, smiling wryly. 

Joe couldn't help but smile back. Tight, yeah, but it came easy. 

“You notice where I'm calling you from?” 

Joe sighed and grabbed the shot glass. “You think I'm gonna care that you're playing hooky from work?” 

“Not playing hooky,” Andy answered, still thrumming and intent under her forced levity. “I'm sick. Don't know what it is, but it must be contagious. Because every single werewolf on Whidbey came down with the exact same thing this morning.” 

“Jesus.” Joe pushed the glass aside, sitting up. Tension knitted in his gut just like that, and he realized what Andy was so excited about. 

“Weird, isn't it? You might want to keep the bar open after hours tonight, see what people are saying. I guarantee they're all missing werewolves today.” 

Joe stood up, taking the cordless a few paces away from the bar. Leon could still hear everything, but pacing made him feel a little less useless. “Are you insane? You think some kind of _strike_ is going to help things? Who the hell told you that this was the right move to pull right now?” 

“I told me. And fuck you, Joe, this is the only thing we can do anymore. They want to arrest us? Kill us? Trap us in the city on the night of the full moon? Fine. When they remember what they need us for they'll change their tune.” 

"What about my wolves? Did you happen to check with them before you pulled this?” 

“You didn’t listen to my broadcast last night.” 

“Fuck your broadcast. Just because you told them something was coming doesn’t mean you got their consent. Most of those guys would rather cut off a hand than miss a day of work. The humans are gonna figure out real fast which wolves aren't legal if they're the only ones still showing up on the job." 

There was a pause then, no instant, triumphant retort. 

Joe gripped the phone tight; it was the only thing that kept him from throwing it against a wall. “What do you even think is going to happen? You think they're going to miss their day labor so much that they forgive those wolves the cops have locked up?” 

“And stop monitoring the bridge the day of the full moon. Exactly. It's better than your plan, Joe. It's better than doing absolutely _nothing_. Better than running around rescuing pets, or making lists of missing wolves and spending a few days looking for them before giving up. Every time, giving up.” 

Joe stared out at the wall, blank, trying to stay calm. “The last bright idea you had put humans in the hospital and put a target on every wolf in the city’s back.” 

“Yeah, and maybe that was the wrong move. Maybe. But it’s done.” 

“Done. Right. You realize that if you really want to save the lives of those wolves in custody, you could do it, yourself alone, with one move.” 

“Now who’s being stupid?” Andy was terse in his ear. “If I go confess to the humans they’re not gonna let the others go. They were still in the city illegally, right? Meta wants an example made of them. I’d just be going to die with the others. Six instead of five.” 

Joe shook his head, for once wanting to be at least a little optimistic. If the humans had someone to punish, maybe they would be lenient. Even if Meta didn’t want them to be. 

No. Damn it, no they wouldn’t. Andy was making decisions he didn’t agree with, but that didn’t make her logic wrong. 

“I'm not telling you any of this because I want your advice. We've listened to you for too long now, and it's only made things worse for us. You're not in charge anymore, Joe. And I'll tell you something else, call it stupid or crazy or whatever you want as long as you realize it's true.” 

Joe waited, hearing something in Andy's voice. Something way too dark. 

“If any of those captured wolves get hurt, or if they pass some fucking law that says they can legally put us down like dogs if we step out of line, then every wolf on this island is going to fight.” Andy paused, drew in a breath. “If one more wolf dies in this city, they’re going to have to kill every one of us.” 

* * *

Across from her desk there sat a chair. It was out of place in the middle of the floor, draped with half a frayed and split length of rope, and it had been sitting there since the night of the full moon. 

Meta kept Merrick from removing it. She rather enjoyed looking at it as she made calls and arranged her changed plans. 

It was almost like the wolf was still there, helpless witness to it all. 

Joe. 

Honestly, of all the names for this pain in her ass to have. _Joe_. 

“My partner didn't say what they were doing with the wolves, so I don’t think there‘s a plan yet. I know they've got enough DNA samples from the other victims to match up to someone. We already knew it was only one wolf doing all the biting, shouldn't be hard to test it against the ones in lock-up.” 

Meta didn't bother to argue, though she would stop that test from happening. The city needed to fear wolves as a group, not one wolf in particular. 

But she couldn’t use Keane for that. He wasn't a policeman anymore. He was nothing but a freshly-turned wolf. Meta couldn't use him for more than information. And motivation, at least for Celeste. 

Poor Celeste. She needed something to do. She was far too restless, which amused Meta to no end. Such a quiet thing for so long, but now that she was hungry for revenge she was impatient for action. 

Her eyes went to the chair, the rope, the ghost of the werewolf that set so many of Meta's present problems into motion. 

Joe never responded to her offer. He had come to her home and stolen her son from her. 

A mistake, but not one that particularly surprised Meta. She had never had any doubt that her tribe was going to remain wolf-free. The only reason she made the offer was because she knew it wouldn't be accepted, but that it would put doubt in the wolf’s mind. It would keep the two of them in contact. It would distract him. Plus, it was far too much fun to toy with Joe, this ridiculous, growling, rough-edged werewolf with the fangs of a vampire. 

Still, it was simply rude of him not to formally refuse the invitation. 

“--nything else, or what?” 

“Pardon?” Meta focused on the phone. “Oh. No, nothing else for now, Mister Keane.” She flashed a grim smile towards the ghost in the chair. “Not unless you happen to know the whereabouts of a rebellious werewolf named Joe.” 

“Yeah, no. I only got bit a few days ago, no one's bothered introducing me to the rest of the animals. Only Joe I know is a human, though the place he hangs out is pretty wolf-friendly.” 

Meta's eyebrows arched. “Human? You're sure of that?” 

“Sure. I mean, I haven't talked to him much but my old partner's friends with his dad. I see him around. No yellow eyes or anything, that's kind of a giveaway.” 

“Yes, I suppose it would be.” Meta stared at the empty chair and felt her smile growing. “Brown eyes, by chance?” 

“Hell if I know. He's a prickly guy, I don't really get near him.” 

Meta had a handful of wolves in cells, an island full of frightened dogs chasing their tails, and a city of scared humans desperate for guidance. But Joe had Nicky, and Sebastien, and his own life and freedom. Far more than any beast deserved. 

Perhaps Meta had an assignment for her impatient, eager new lieutenant after all. Perhaps she had something to get poor Merrick's mind off his abandonment. 

“Tell me, Mister Keane, where is this place? This wolf-friendly place where the human Joe can be found?” 


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nile finally gets a chance to have a conversation with Sebastien the fang. Meta sets plans into motion to strike out against Joe.

He had never been comfortable on Whidbey Island. 

Werewolves, after all, never completely trusted Joe. The ones in the city were more at ease with him, since most of them came to him for help and they all owed him something. But the Whidbey wolves, the normal and obedient and law-abiding wolves, they didn't know him. Some of them asked for his help now and then, and most of them had friends or family working with Joe. All of them had packs who had been sent money earned through Joe's underground connections. 

But they didn't know him, and they didn't like him. 

They were as close to a legitimate pack as he had ever seen. At least that he could remember. They all came from different places, but the spirit on the island was what he thought of as pack spirit. The rows and rows of matching cramped government housing were plain and sterile, but the grounds outside showed the proof of a proud community. 

There were playgrounds for the children: rickety, often clumsily repaired, but solid. There were long rows of picnic tables for gatherings and shared meals. There were plots of gardens to grow their own food. 

Joe heard about life on the island in detail, even if he'd only been there for quick errands or to spend the full moon. He only ever heard about the days before the full moon, when they celebrated together out at those tables, at the playgrounds. They stuffed themselves with cheap food in order to ensure the change was peaceful, and they celebrated together because it was all they could do in the face of something they were helpless to prevent. 

He hated it. It was a vibrant community, struck by poverty but filled with pride, and he had never been welcomed there. 

The air on the island was more tense than on his last few visits. If every wolf on the island was playing hooky, it didn’t show just walking off the bridge and down the uneven trail to the first of the housing units. The few passing people didn't bother saying hello. The playgrounds were empty, the community grounds were deserted. 

Joe headed for the picnic tables and took a seat at the nearest one, knowing that despite the few people in sight someone would have seen him arrive. And they would go tell Andy. 

It was a warm evening. There were clouds dotting the sky but the sun showed through in patches, fading but still visible. It was early enough that there should have been more people outside. They should have still been trailing back across the bridge, tired from a hard day. 

He squinted out beyond the playgrounds at the tree cover that all but surrounded them. On three sides, the small island was thick with trees beyond the gray, sterile housing units. It was a strange thing for the humans to have left there, Joe couldn't help but think. An uncharacteristically generous thing to give to creatures that they hated, letting them have space and forests and room to move during the nights of the full moon. 

He had always assumed that humans left the woods there to tempt the wolves. Maybe they were hoping that wild wolves roaming the woods under a full moon might take a swim, try to reach the city itself and cause the sort of hysteria that Meta had plotted to make happen. Another reason to arrest, to restrain. To add more limits to what the wolves were allowed to do. 

Either that or they left it in order to have one more thing to threaten to take away. 

It didn't take long before he heard footsteps approaching. He had been friends with Andy for years, he knew her scent. He didn't bother looking back, just waited until the steps got close. 

“You know you're doing exactly what Meta wants, right?” he said, looking out toward the playground. "Setting humans against wolves. You're helping her along." 

Andy circled the bench seat and stood silent for a moment. 

“Maybe.” Her answer was milder than Joe expected. She sat on the table, planting her feet on the bench beside Joe. “We just don't care anymore.” 

“About what?” 

“About the consequences,” she answered. Strangely calm, almost like the mellow woman she used to be, before too many years as a wolf made her harsh. “There's only so long you can scare people with the same threats before it stops being effective. They've kept us scared of consequences for years now, and all it's gotten us is more rules and less freedom.” 

Joe couldn't argue that. 

“It's unnatural, the lives they force us into. It's wrong. You know it as well as I do. There's not one good reason why we don't deserve the same rights as humans, or fangs. We have claws once a month. They kill each other every day. How does that make them better than us?” 

Preaching to the choir, but Joe didn't try to cut her off. Andy never missed a chance to give her favorite sermon. 

Joe sat back, hiking his elbows up on the table behind him. This illusion of casualness...it beat the reaction he was expecting, so he went along with it and kept his answer mild. 

“You think setting us against them is going to prove your point?” 

“Maybe. You think we haven't earned a fight by now?” 

“What wolves have earned and what they should do are two different things.” 

“You know, Joe, honestly? I don't understand why you're so set against this. You're the most temperamental person I know, and you've had a front row seat for years. You've seen how bad things are.” 

“Yeah. But I've also had a better view of humans than most of these wolves. Even you. You've been here too long. You've lost perspective.” 

“Perspective?” There it was, the first sharp bite of temper into Andy's calm voice. 

Joe glanced over, watched her jaw twitch. “ _Their_ perspective. You've forgotten the years you spent as a cocky human, not giving a single shit about the injustices towards werewolves even though almost everything that happens now happened back then too.” 

Andy looked away from him. She frowned out at the trees, golden eyes catching the fading sun with a dull glow. 

“What would you have done, Andy? Back when you were younger, before you knew firsthand what was happening. What would you have thought if all these dangerous werewolves suddenly showed up on the streets during the full moon?” 

Andy shook her head, but didn't answer. 

“What would your parents have done? What would the kids at school have said? Those kinds of humans are the ones you're not thinking about. Meta's playing her game with them in mind. Everything she's ever done was intended to cause a reaction from those white-bread Middle America folks. They're not the ones calling the shots, but once you lose them you lose everything.” 

Andy looked over, solemn, the weight of every wolf on that island sitting on her shoulders. Joe had a moment of sympathy for her, the same he’d felt for Andy for a while now. Joe had always accepted his responsibilities because he was the only wolf able to do what he did. He had always known what he was getting into. But Andy? Andy fell into her position as spokesman. She had a loud mouth and a basic knowledge of amateur radio broadcasting. From there responsibility fell on her, hard. 

Still. Whether she asked for it or not, she had it. If she wasn't gonna give it up she had to do right by it. 

“Here's where your argument falls apart, Joe,” she said quietly. “Can you give me a single alternative to fighting that will make any difference at all?” 

Joe frowned. He looked away from her, back out at the trees. He hated Whidbey for everything it represented, but he could get used to sitting outside under the sun, feeling the breeze on his skin. It was nothing like downtown city air. 

He shut his eyes for a quiet moment and felt the cool tingle of that breeze. “You're right,” he admitted. “The only thing I can tell you to do is sit back and shut up and hope Meta doesn't win.” 

“That's no answer.” 

“I know.” He drew in a breath and opened his eyes, turning to face her. “But there is an answer. I've got no head for this kind of thing; just because I can't think of a solution doesn't mean there isn't one.” 

Andy met his eyes, and a wry smile tilted at her mouth. “We're patient. That's what today was about, this strike. We're testing the fire, not jumping right into it. We have more than enough reason to fight, after the moon, and the wolves in prison, and these bullshit statements they're giving about new wolf laws. But we're waiting. You should be happy with that.” 

Joe snorted. “Civil disobedience is all well and good, but it isn't any kind of long-term strategy. They make it too easy to ignore us, just so when we pull this kind of shit it won't affect anything. The wolves need the income more than the city needs the labor. That’s not a game you can win." Sitting back against the edge of the table, he looked up at Andy's calm profile. “If they don't kill those wolves they arrested, are you prepared to just stand down and wait for the next injustice? Send everyone back to work with nothing gained? Or is the standoff going to last until people here are starving?” 

Andy shrugged, just a slight rise and dip of her shoulders. “Moot point. They're not going to let those wolves live. Meta got this ball rolling, she'll take it all the way. And we won't let that happen. You don't just murder a wolf, not without the pack fighting back.” 

Joe felt a chill at those words. 

She was right, after all. You don't kill wolves without the pack responding. Just like you don't take their children away without a fight. If you want a pack of wolves to react violently, you find their weakest members and you hurt them. Werewolves, as Joe told Meta the day of the moon, were not animals. There was no deserting the weakest so that the pack became stronger. There was only family, and protectiveness. 

“You know...” 

Joe sighed, but twisted and leaned back against the table, waiting quietly. 

Andy smiled over at him, sad and slight. “This is gonna sound weird, considering I was born human and you weren't, but...your problem, Joe, is you have no clue what it's like to be a wolf.” 

Joe's expression hardened, but he didn't speak. 

“You don't understand, and that's why you're fighting this so hard. I may not have been raised in a pack, but I come back to this island night after night and hear the whispers, see people scared to let their kids cross the bridge. More and more of these people know someone who's been caught, thrown out, arrested, accused. Or vanished, part of that long list of missing people you and me have been keeping track of.” 

She looked back towards the housing units behind them. “It's worse lately, worse every day, but even if it wasn't...I still deal with the same things I've seen since day one on this island. The tired wolves dragging in after a twelve-hour shift only to realize their paycheck's already spent for the month and they've got nothing left to feed their families with. The new arrivals from the packlands, so enthusiastic about earning money to send home, and then so fucking beaten down after only a few days here. The newly-turned humans who show up, petrified and miserable and only getting more depressed when they see that all their fears are valid.” 

She looked back at Joe, and there was something hard in her eyes. Something that a couple years ago would have looked entirely out of place on Andy's face. 

“You don't understand, because you've never had to live this life. You say I've lost sight of what it's like to be human? You've never known what it's like to be a wolf. You work with wolves, you sit in that bar and find jobs and arrange housing, but you never had to live in that housing. You haven't worked those shitty jobs. You don't have to think before you walk outside. You never had to drop your eyes in crowds hoping no one will notice what you are, or live in fear of being in the wrong place when the sun sets.” She gestured at his face with a flat smile. “Though at least that part is different now. Maybe after a few weeks with these eyes you might start clueing in.” 

Joe stood up abruptly. “I've spent my entire life having to hear shit like this, Andy. I could fill a book with the reasons why I'm not a real wolf. I didn't come out here to listen to more, especially from you.” 

“Walk away if you want to, but I'm serious.” Andy stepped down from the bench, studying him. She was still calm, still hard-eyed but steady in her gaze. “Strange thing is, I feel sorry for you.” 

Joe shook his head and turned. He hadn't gotten a single thing accomplished showing up there. Big surprise. 

“Joe.” 

He hesitated, and even though it was probably a dumb idea he turned back and glared at Andy, waiting. 

“You haven't ever had to watch a pack of your own decaying around you the way I am now, and that pretty much makes you the last wolf in the world who's qualified to tell us how to react.” 

“Everything I've done the last ten years of my life has been for these wolves,” Joe said through a clenched jaw. 

Andy almost seemed sympathetic under her hard-eyed stare. “But not as one of them. As an outsider, lending a hand to the huddled masses. Right?” She didn't wait for an answer. “You've bitched a few times through the years about why you never felt accepted by the wolves here. You figured it was your eyes, or your scent. But it's not. If you were to show up tomorrow with all your things and take up the life here they would welcome you. If you joined me and fought with me...Christ, Joe, I could use it. We could use you. But you won’t. You never fit in because _you_ never wanted to.” 

“That's bullshit, Andy.” 

“No, it's not. You never tried. You never treated these wolves like anything more than an obligation, and they can sense that shit a mile away. And you know the really sad thing?” Andy met his eyes, the sympathy fading under the anger still simmering behind her eyes. She seemed to hesitate over her next words. 

“The sad thing is...I can't help but wonder if the wolves in this city would be as bad off as they are now if you had just left us the hell alone in the first place.” 

* * *

Nile told herself that she wasn't looking for anyone in particular. She just needed a drink, that was all. Just needed a break from the stifling air upstairs. 

She wasn't _looking_ for Sebastien, but she found him anyway. 

The doors were safely locked for the evening: Leon had put a sign out announcing that the bar was closed for remodeling, which would give them a day or two of space. None of them particularly wanted to go that route, since communication was so important right now. But wolves gathering inside the city was also especially risky. Besides, closing the doors was the only solution to having vampires around, short of having Sebastien and Nicky stay at Joe's place. 

Nile was pretty sure she had never met a person, supernatural or otherwise, with balls big enough to suggest that to Joe, though. 

So when she noticed that their wayward vampire guest wasn't upstairs, she developed a sudden thirst and went down. There she found Sebastien, sitting at the empty bar by himself, staring into a clear glass of what might have been water. 

Sebastien looked up when she came in, and his eyes lingered on her. 

Nile – who wasn't looking for Sebastien, really, honest – smiled awkwardly in greeting. 

There was no good reason why she couldn't get this one fang out of her head. She'd spent like ten minutes total in his presence, knew nothing about him. He was good-looking, sure: poreless skin and sandy hair, thick eyebrows, deep, old eyes. But if Nile had a type, and she wasn’t sure she did, it wouldn’t have been muscled up white fangs. 

And he was so _strange_. It didn't seem like it was a fang thing, either, that quiet and contained air Sebastien had around him. Something about him seemed so...internal. Like he was his own universe, and no matter where he was or who was around him, everything he would ever need was inside of his own skin. Nile never met anyone, of any race, who gave off that kind of vibe. 

Maybe that was what struck her so strongly every time she saw Sebastien. Nile herself had never found much contentment anywhere, inside her own skin or outside of it. 

"You alright down here?" 

"I’m fine," Sebastien answered in his low, accented voice. 

A short answer, but his eyes stayed on her. He didn't seem like someone who wanted to be left alone. 

She moved back behind the bar and pulled a glass from the rack. She grabbed the well gun and poured herself a coke. It wasn't the drink she came down for, but maybe with the entire world falling apart she ought to keep her head. The Freemans as a family tended to lean too much on alcohol, mostly because it was one of the few comforts that was always there in full supply. 

Drink in hand, she hesitated. She could just turn and go, back upstairs to the tension and silence. Probably should do that. 

Instead she moved to the bar top and put her drink down across from Sebastien's. "Are you up early or late?" 

"I didn't sleep." 

"I don't suppose you're used to having to squeeze onto a sofa." 

"No." Sebastien smiled faintly. "But that isn't why." 

"Oh." Nile studied him, curious. He was the first fang she had ever seen so close-up. 

Sebastien's face wasn't old, but his eyes showed the same kind of years Nile could see in Leon's face lately. Being a fang didn't seem like any kind of hard life, but maybe if you lived long enough even the easy years started to show in the eyes. 

In Nile's family there had never been a sense of awe towards vampires, but she couldn't help but think that Sebastien was kind of beautiful. That age in his eyes helped, the solemnity on his face, the way he was so contained. 

She had been attracted to all kinds of people before, male or female or none of the above, but she had never been fascinated like she was now. Still, when she looked at Sebastien from that close and saw the weight of all those years behind his eyes, she felt a little silly for thinking that he would even notice her. She felt absurd for mentioning out loud to Joe that she wanted to give the nonexistent thing between them a chance. 

Sebastien looked up as Nile studied him, and when their eyes met she was embarrassed to feel heat rushing to her cheeks. Not embarrassed that he’d see it, not on her skin, but embarrassed that her interest in him could cause an actual physical reaction. 

She sucked in a breath and turned, dumping her soda in the sink. "I think we need a real drink." 

"I wouldn't argue," Sebastien said with the same sad smile. 

“Can you guys even get drunk?” Nile pondered the bottles lined up behind her, and grinned at the top-shelf whiskey she'd brought out for James the other day. Sebastien was a guest, right? At least if he wasn't a prisoner or hostage or something; it was hard to read Joe's mind sometimes. 

She glanced back when she realized Sebastien didn't answer her. 

Sebastien seemed thoughtful – pretty much constantly, Nile figured – like he didn't even hear the question. 

"The wolf is your brother." 

“Joe,” she corrected easily. And this was a dangerous topic to jump to, but Nile slapped a couple of fresh glasses onto the bar. "Yes." 

"But he was born a wolf." 

"Adoption is a thing," she answered, pouring generous amounts into their glasses. "Doesn’t make him any less my brother." 

Sebastien nodded and fell silent. 

She cleared her throat as she passed a glass across the bar. "I'm not schooled on vampire etiquette, so I don't know if it's rude to ask, but…how old are you?" 

Sebastien studied her as if trying to read something into the change in subject. "I was forty-two when I turned. Though that was nearly two hundred and fifty years ago." 

Jesus, she was sniffing around a super-senior citizen. That was probably not healthy. He'd've been too old for her even back in his human years. 

“How did it happen?” She offered a smile. “This'll probably sound strange to you, but I don't know a lot about how vampires are...created, or born, or whatever. I don't know much about vampires at all." 

"It doesn't seem strange." Sebastien raised his glass, tilting the amber though his eyes stayed on her. And then he smiled back. "I've met your family." 

Nile laughed. 

Sebastien’s smile grew as he watched her. "That’s a long story as well.” 

“I've got time.” Nile leaned on the bar, flashing her most charming bartender smile. 

Sebastien hesitated. “It's hard to know where to begin. I'm not asked about my past often; most of those around me were there to witness it.” 

Nile shrugged. “I'm not taking notes on the record here, we're just talking. Start wherever.” 

Sebastien for a moment looked disapproving, which only made Nile's grin bigger. Vampire society must have been a hell of a lot more formal than human or wolf. “Well. It was in France.” 

“Right.” She grinned. “Sebastien The Book, I remember.” 

He let out a soft noise, something like a laugh. “I remember telling you my name. I haven’t gone by anything but Sebastien in centuries, but I told you my full birth name.” 

“Yes, you did, Book.” 

Sebastien's eyebrows rose. 

Nile grinned. 

Sebastien seemed to repress a smile in return. “I can't say that I mind the change. There’s no point in hanging onto a family name when we can’t hang onto our actual families.” 

“Is yours...?” 

Sebastien held up his drink, his face neutral. “I stopped keeping track of them after a few decades. When my youngest son was all that was left.” 

Her mouth dropped open. “You had kids?” 

“Three. And a wife, of course. I don’t expect I was very good at it, though, since I was able to leave them.” 

“How did they take it? When you changed?” 

“Not well. Vampires weren’t trusted back then, not yet. My sons…” Sebastien smiled sadly. “At first they feared me. The last few times I got in touch with them, as they got older than me in appearance, all they wanted was to be turned as well.” 

“You didn’t, though.” 

“I can’t. It’s not a choice for a single vampire to make. At least I lost the eldest before he could despise me for it. He died fighting with Napoleon.” 

“Oh my god, you’re _old_.” She laughed, mostly at herself. “That is surreal.” 

Sebastien echoed the laugh, though after a moment it faded and he looked a little surprised at himself for it. “Anyway. The story of my changing is probably duller than you're hoping. I was a scholar, curious about anything unknown. I was fearless about exploring, digging into every one of life's mysteries that I could find.” 

Nile could guess from there. "So you went out exploring and met a vampire." 

"I met Meta." 

Nile fell silent then, since anything she might say about Meta would probably not be welcomed. 

Sebastien nodded, maybe acknowledging her silence for what it was. "Humans had at that point known about the existence vampires for two or three decades, but we didn’t know much. Humans didn’t trust them yet, and vampires were still trying to insinuate themselves into society. I was fascinated by the idea of them. Like so many humans today I sought them out, hoping just to see one. To this day I couldn't tell you where my interest sprang from, beyond a sheer need to know everything. Well…it was also said that they lived forever, and my mother died too young.” 

It was the first part of Sebastien's story that hit close to Nile. She didn't know anything about France or Napoleon or vampires. But she did understand that kind of loss. She saw it in Sebastien's face, the familiar ache of it, though Sebastien's own pain was very old. 

His expressions, Nile couldn't help but notice, were very much human. Despite the unnaturally perfect, poreless skin and the calmness of his words, it seemed Sebastien was expressive if someone was looking hard enough. 

Sebastien studied his glass, twirling it absently as he spoke and watching the lights bounce off the glass and the amber of the whiskey. 

"Meta was still with her old tribe then. She was already thinking about setting out on her own, leading her own tribe. It was an ambitious task, given how cautious vampires were back then about selecting humans to change. But she already had a few loyal followers who planned to go with her. Meta has always been very selective. It wasn't about beauty or devotion, it was about being interesting to her. Somehow I interested her.” 

His smile was less sad. Nostalgic, almost, and wistful, but not sad. And yeah, Nile was insane for even thinking about it, but he really was beautiful. 

Sebastien looked up, catching her staring. 

She drew her eyes away fast. Clumsy. "Go on." 

"There's not much else to tell. Eventually I was turned, at Meta’s request and the tribe’s approval. Meta took my change as a sign that she was ready to go her own way. So we split off from the old tribe and left, a group of us. It was nothing unusual, tribes used to fear becoming too big when discovery was a worry. Eventually we arrived in America. The idea of a country so young and new excited her. And America, it seemed, felt the same about her." 

Nile snorted softly. 

Sebastien made a faint sound of agreement. "I was amazed at the time how easily we took our place here, but it doesn't do to underestimate Meta. When she decided to come west a few decades ago, and chose to settle here, she had the city excavating the underground streets within a month of our arrival and thanking us for the honor. And that was years before the fascination with vampires started to benefit the city financially." 

Nile was glad suddenly that Joe wasn't around listening. It was annoying: everything that existed today, every piece set up in the power struggle that was heating up so badly, all simply fell into place so long ago. 

The fangs never had to earn their position. They were simply handed it. Maybe some of that was due to Meta herself, but Nile didn't doubt that humans back then were as fascinated and submissive as humans were now. 

Sebastien went on after a moment. "We have been here for decades. Only one in the tribe is from this city, but it is still our home. We are a family, much like the werewolves consider themselves...” 

He looked away from her, his face falling. 

Nile frowned in sympathy, but didn’t bother trying to console him. She understood Joe’s mixed feelings about Sebastien. His family had killed wolves, and Sebastien had apparently known and consented. Maybe helped, though looking at him made her doubt that. 

Still. 

Sebastien smiled, but it wasn’t happy. "Merrick especially treated me like a pet, or a hired amusement, when I was still a curious human asking too many questions. But the first evening that I woke up as a vampire, he came to me and talked, for hours. As an equal." 

Nile laughed, short and sharp. "He sounds nice and biased." 

"He is." Sebastien's own quiet chuckle faded quickly. "He taught me a lot. More than you would ever believe. I grew up in a quiet home, with mostly myself for company. I married and had children because it was expected, but if I were allowed, I would have spent my life absorbed in philosophical daydreaming. It was a hard thing to fight off, when the changes I was going through called to mind so many issues worthy of pondering: the nature of a vampire, whether we must be evil because we feed off the lifeblood of others. The question of how we came to be, the notions of a God who would create creatures like us to roam the earth." 

Nile raised her eyebrows and reached for the whiskey bottle. "I think you need more." 

Sebastien smiled. "You see my point, then. When I was first changed, my mind was filled with questions like those. It was Merrick who taught me to think as he did. To enjoy the change for what it was. To forget the questions about what it means to live, in exchange for actually living." 

Nile frowned but tilted some whiskey into Sebastien's glass before topping herself off. 

Sebastien took his glass back with a nod of thanks. "Merrick taught me to love the world instead of questioning it down to the last atom. It was a lesson I badly needed to learn." 

Nile shook her head, taking a quick, heated swallow of whiskey. Every time she heard Merrick's name she pictured that wild-eyed, seething fang throwing himself at Joe, snarling and scratching. 

"What?" Sebastien sent her a smile, wry, like he could already read her thoughts. 

"I'm wondering - did he actually use the phrase 'love the world'? Or did he talk more in terms of, say, raping and pillaging and destroying the world?" 

Sebastien blinked. 

"He's a psychopath, Book." 

"No." He relaxed at that, but his voice was sad. "He isn't. He's just the product of a world that can't say no to him. Merrick is what a lot of vampires are, and a lot more will become." 

"Scary thought." 

“He is my brother, in all the ways that matter.” Sebastien shrugged, his shoulders bending into the heavy slump he sat in when she first walked in. "I don't know if you've ever cared strongly for a difficult person, but when I realized that loving him meant loving him for his arrogance, not despite it, I was able to." 

Nile thought instantly about Joe. 

There weren't many people in the world more difficult to love than Joe could be. He was as arrogant as Merrick in his own way, cold towards anyone he thought had a better chance in life than he did. Which was almost everyone. And that was probably the least of his flaws. He lashed out, he ran off, he left his family in tears time and again. 

When Nile thought of the good he did and the horrors he tolerated, she could forgive him all that. But she had to think of those things. She had no idea if she could love him _for_ the bad, instead of despite it. 

Strange thought, that the fangs might have had a healthier relationship than she and Joe. Or maybe she wasn’t giving herself enough credit. She did love her brother, unconditionally and entirely. And she hadn’t needed two hundred years of history to get there. 

"Now." Sebastien sat up, straightening from his slump. "It's your turn. Tell me about yourself." 

Nile grinned at that, wry. "There's nothing to tell. You've been upstairs, here's the bar. This is my life." 

"Not all of it, surely." 

"There's not enough outside of here to rate." 

Sebastien studied her. "That's a shame." 

She felt heat creeping up her face again. She shrugged, because as much as she sometimes bitched in her own mind about how much she was missing in life, it wasn't something she said out loud. 

"I've got it better than a lot of people," she said simply, flashing her most careless smile. "It's hard to lose perspective around here. Anytime I want to gripe about feeling a little lonely, I just have to look around. The people who come in here...any one of them would be thrilled if 'lonely' was their biggest problem." 

Sebastien regarded her, those old eyes of his looking oddly soft. "It's a universal truth that no matter who you are, someone in the world is worse off than you. If we weren't allowed to voice our problems because another person might have it worse, this would be a much quieter world." 

Nile smiled at that, and laughed a moment later. "Never thought about it like that." 

Sebastien returned the smile. "Would you say, then, if I were to ask, that loneliness is the thing that bothers you most?" 

Nile hesitated. "Maybe...if you were asking about only my own life, and not..." She let out a breath. "Hell, maybe not even then. It's hard to lose sight of the bigger problems, you know? All that bigger stuff...that all affects me too. It's messed my brother up, it's turning my dad into an old man before his time. My life is weird because of all those bigger issues, and because my life's weird it's hard to meet people who..." 

She stopped, frowning to herself. "I think we both need to drink more. What are we talking about all this for?" 

Sebastien cast his eyes down to his glass. 

Nile took a sip of the drink, but not from any hurry to get buzzed. It was strange, catching herself about to whine to this fang about being lonely. It was strange because that wasn't something she liked to even think about most of the time. 

She had her dad. Sometimes she had Joe. She had Andy and James and a dozen regular patrons she considered to be friends. Sure, she didn't have a lot of friends outside the bar, but that was her own fault. She was the one who distanced herself from all her school buddies when they graduated, when she came back to help at the bar instead of applying for college or finding some real career for herself. 

So no, she didn't meet people often. The last person she went out with...it was almost a year ago now, and the guy was pretty much a complete dick. But that was how it had to work. 

There was no such thing as casual for her. Nile had to be able to trust someone in order to share any part of this secretive, underground life with them, but she didn't meet enough people to be able to be to find ones she could trust. And the few times she tried, dressing up nice and putting on her face and heading to the bars in the hours just before dawn, she couldn’t handle it. The moment some ordinary person started talking about wolf issues or swooning over fangs, she lost all interest in them, even for some casual fling. 

In the end, there were plenty of people around her, sharing in her misery. That was about as much as anyone could ask for these days, right? 

"You are interesting to me." 

Nile blinked, looking up, and realized that Sebastien was answering her rhetorical question from a moment ago. 

Sebastien regarded his glass, but his gaze lifted and he met her eyes. "In fact, though I'm not sure why, you are interesting to me in a way that I haven't felt before." 

She drew in a breath and forgot to let it out. 

"Since the first moment I saw you, you have stayed with me.” His cheeks lit with faint pink, and she regarded that in wonder. She hadn’t known vampires could blush. “That is new for me, and having lived as long as I have I rarely experience anything truly new." Sebastien studied her like he was confused by the mystery of it all. "I want to know more about you, Nile. I want to know everything." 

For a moment Nile expected...something. A smirk, a glint in the eye. Something that let her in on the joke. But no, this wasn’t Joe or Andy, or someone who used sarcasm as some passive attack. 

Nile...she had always been a pretty fantastic person, at least in her own mind. She knew her strengths, she knew what she was capable of. But factually speaking she was probably the least _interesting_ person she knew. 

But Sebastien said that Nile stayed with him, and as much as she wanted to worry that it was some trick, or some form of fang humor, she couldn't deny that those words were just as true for her. Sebastien stayed with Nile. Which, considering that the first time she saw him was in an alley right before her brother sprouted fangs and tried to kill Merrick, was saying something. 

Sebastien stayed with Nile so completely that Nile had talked to Joe about the idea of a _relationship_ with him. This conversation they were having now was a hundred times more words than they ever spoke to each other, but that hadn't mattered from the start. 

She didn't know Sebastien, and what she did know seemed entirely incompatible with her life. But Sebastien stayed with her all the same. 

She drew in a breath and managed to suck up some bravery as well. Using that bravery, she flashed another smile, smaller and softer-feeling than her normal grins. "Oh." 

Sebastien raised his eyebrows, like he was waiting for more. 

Nile's smile stretched out until it must have looked ridiculous, but she couldn't manage more than that. She picked up her drink and swallowed a little more courage, and met Sebastien's eyes. 

"In that case...what was it you were asking about?" 

Sebastien smiled, real and bright, like all those long years falling off him at once. 

There were pounding footsteps from the corridor behind the bar, and the sound of an inner door slamming. Nile frowned back over her shoulder as that thunder pounded down the back stairs. 

A moment later Joe burst through the door behind the bar. 

"Jesus, there you are. I have to go. Finally got James on the phone, and I think he can get me in to see…" He stopped abruptly, his eyes on Sebastien. 

He seemed to take in everything - the drinks, the way Nile was leaning on the bar right across from Sebastien, so close that their glasses were almost touching. His eyes moved to Nile and, yeah, sure enough, her cheeks started heating up again. 

She met his eyes, though, because whether it was silly or not they already had this talk. "What's James getting you into?" 

Joe was still for another moment, looking at them, then he erupted into movement again. "To see the wolves. At least one of them. If nothing else, he can probably get me to the guys running the investigation and I can get some idea what’s going to happen now." 

He grabbed his jacket from behind the counter and moved around the bar. "He says there's some serious bad talk going on. Some cops are whispering that the wolves aren’t going to live to see a trial. Meta wants to pull some private underhanded shit, and there isn't a cop in the city right now who's going to take the wolves’ side. Fucking Keane getting bitten." 

Joe jerked his jacket on. His eyes were hard, his body practically vibrating with tension. "I'm going to see if I can salvage anything at all. Fangs have their claws in the city so deep it's probably a lost cause. I'm probably going back to Whidbey when I'm done with James, so don't expect me back anytime soon. Andy's got them up there sharpening pitchforks or something, and no one else is going to talk any sense into her." 

Nile watched her brother moving. He was too jerky, even more graceless than usual. Too fast, like he was running on pure momentum. 

"How's Nicky?" Nile asked hesitantly. 

"I don't know." The words came out a snap. Joe jerked his jacket closed and dug out the pair of sunglasses that he suddenly needed to keep the werewolf hidden. "Ask Leon. I have to go, I don't have time to worry about him. I've got fangs trying to kill me and wolves trying to kill themselves. I don't have time for…shit." 

He shoved the sunglasses over his eyes and went to the door, jerking keys from his pocket and pushing out. The door slammed behind him. The lock clicked into place audibly. 

Nile turned slowly, taking her glass in her hands. The sudden silence felt like a vacuum, like emptiness instead of peace. 

Across from her, Sebastien drew in a breath like he was going to say something to break up the silent wake Joe left behind him. 

Nile looked up at him. 

He faced his drink. 

The silence stayed. 

* * *

Sometimes he had no clue what he was supposed to be doing, or if he even liked what his life had become. Hell, he could have retired two years ago – cops got the option to draw pensions early. A reward for twenty years of getting shot at. 

Instead, James Copley carried on same as ever. No one forced him to stay on the job, no one withheld his pension or threatened him to make him stick around. He stuck around by choice. He'd seen too many good cops forced to take early retirement, or draw disability, or get stuck behind a desk. He was lucky enough to still be there with all his limbs and most of his brain, so...hell. 

He knew a dozen guys who would have taken his place back on the force if they were allowed. Felt like an insult to those guys if he walked off the job while he was still young enough to do it. 

Sometimes, though, it was hard to remember why he should stay when there was so much that he wanted to walk away from. 

He shut the phone with a frown and a groan of breath. Hanging up on the kid of one screwed ex-partner, he set the phone on the sticky diner table and shot a grimace over at his companion: his other screwed ex-partner. 

Richard flashed a smile, though it looked strange from under those brand new yellow werewolf eyes. “It's gonna be fine.” 

James swallowed a response, studying him for a moment. 

He owed him. Keane was a good partner, and he got screwed. James wasn't to blame for that, but no one else but James was willing to give him any kind of amends for it. Still. He didn't like it. He should have asked more questions before he made that call. But Richard was a cop, a good guy – taking the badge away and turning his eyes yellow wasn't enough to change that. 

“I don't get the point of this. You wanted me to arrange a meeting with Joe, but you don't care if I even go or not.” He almost wanted to ask, but he was pretty sure that nothing he or Leon ever said while Richard was around would have given Joe up as a werewolf. They were careful. 

He frowned. “It better not be some kind of revenge thing, just because that family is pro-wolf.” 

“Revenge?” Richard seemed honestly surprised. “Come on, Jim. I'm angry about what happened, yeah, but this isn't about me. It's just Joe Meta's interested in.” 

“Meta?” James's bad feeling surged up strong. “Meta asked you to set that up?” 

“She's got some hard-on for guys named Joe. I dunno. She just wants to get a look at him.” 

James grabbed his phone from off the table and redialed fast. 

Richard studied him, brow furrowed. “What's wrong?”

“Meta wants to get Joe out somewhere in the open, and you didn't think I needed to know that part?” 

“It's a public place, nothing's gonna happen. Trust me, this Joe is the wrong guy. Whoever Meta thinks he is, he's not. I wouldn't have done all this if I thought it would hurt the guy, even if he is an asshole.” 

James turned away from him when a voice answered the phone. “Nile? Where's Joe?” 

“James?” Nile sounded wary instantly. “He took off a minute ago. Said he was meeting you.” 

“Shit.” James glared over at Keane, but it softened when he saw the sincere confusion on his partner's face. Richard might have done something fucking stupid, and James did it right along with him. But Richard wasn't malicious, even with a werewolf's bite marks in him. 

Was he?

“Does he have his cell on him?” James got to his feet, digging for his keys with his free hand. 

“He lost it during the full moon. What's going on, James?” 

“Hopefully nothing. I have to go.” James shut the phone and stuffed it in his jacket. “Jesus Christ, rook.” 

“What?” Richard stood slowly. “I told you, your Joe isn't the one Meta's looking for anyway. Some fang is gonna peek at him when he goes to meet you, and that's gonna be the end of it.” 

James hesitated, wanting to listen. He was right – the meeting was at a public place. Hell, it was right outside the police station. Meta was egotistical as all hell but she wouldn't pull something in the middle of the evening with people everywhere. 

Still. James had known for years that Joe was involved with some serious shit, helping wolves and breaking the laws, and Meta was gunning for wolves these days. 

He let out a breath, but as much as he wanted to believe Richard that this was nothing big, his instincts were shouting. He moved towards the door of the small diner, trying to stay at least a little casual. 

Richard came up after him, and if it wasn't for the yellow eyes it could have been just another evening on shift, taking a quick meal break between calls. 

“So, who's the one Meta _is_ looking for? How do you know our Joe isn't him?” 

“Easy,” Keane said with a grin. “The one Meta wants is a werewolf.” 

James didn't even manage to let that sink in before he was running for the door. 

* * *

Nicky didn't consider himself a coward. 

He had been scared before, of course, but that wasn't the same thing as cowardice. All in all, taking everything into account, Nicky thought he was somewhat brave. 

He didn't consider this to be any different. 

Some people liked to say that suicide was a form of cowardice. The ultimate cowardly act. But it wasn't. It took courage to face death in any form, surely it had to take even more courage to invite death closer. He was lying in a soft bed in a safe home, being tended to by a remarkably nice man who didn't know him well enough to obligate him to be so kind. As showdowns with death went, this was less brave than most. 

But Nicky was dying all the same, and he could feel it happening. He could feel the tension, the strain, the hollow urges from a body that knew it needed something that it wasn't getting. 

He’d caught himself looking at Leon's throat now and then. 

He told Leon that he couldn't be this thing he had been turned into. That was only partially true. He never wanted it, and he fought screaming to stop it, but he could have probably learned to live with it. He'd adapted to worse before. 

More than growing fangs and craving blood, Nicky couldn't bear the idea of _continuing_. 

He stopped trying to explain it to Leon - even in his mind it sounded so unbearably melodramatic, speaking it out loud added on to the absurdity - but it was clear to Nicky. 

He always had a good sense of who he was. He even _liked_ that person, which was something a lot of people never managed. But there was something about him, inside of him, that was broken. Something was wrong with him in a deep and real way. The more he became aware of it, the less he could live with it. Nicky wanted to be the person he was meant to be. He wanted to go back to that time when his father adored him, and his teachers were amazed by him, and his mother's friends all fawned over him. He wanted to be that brilliant, beautiful child he once was. He wanted to know who that child was supposed to grow up to be. 

All that he was now was the small bit of a person left over after the vampires, Merrick, his mindless mother, Meta, and a pair of fangs in his neck all had their chance to hack pieces of him away. 

Even Joe. 

What he was now...it was _wrong_. And he couldn't fix it. 

His body was something someone else made him into. His mind was gone, the intelligence he was born with sapped away into the fog that years of venom left him with. He wasn't himself anymore. He wasn't his own. The idea that this fractured person who he was now was going to go on forever...it was sickening. The thought that he would have to start tearing and ripping and eating away at other people in order to live was unbearable. 

He wasn't a coward, but when a person came out on the losing end of so many different fights, it seemed useless to want to fight more. Especially when the prize for winning was something he didn't want. 

He couldn't make anyone understand that, but that was alright. He'd gotten used to being the only one on his side. 

There was a faint rap on the door and Leon came into the silent bedroom, another cup of tea steaming in his hands. He flashed Nicky a smile that looked even more tired than his last one ten minutes ago. 

“So, I was thinking,” he said as he moved to the bed and set the cup carefully down on Joe's little bedside table. 

Nicky sat up, but he didn't reach for the cup. He smiled, though he knew what Leon was thinking about. 

Leon sat down on the edge of the bed, hiking a leg up on the mattress and studying Nicky. “Sebastien was telling me that you can't go back underground because of how you were turned. I wonder if...if not having other fangs around might be what's making this go so hard for you.” 

Leon had been up with him since he arrived. Coming and going, bringing tea and trays of sandwiches and usually with a new idea about what might change Nicky's mind. It was heartening. Leon was a good man, a good person. Nicky hadn't met many of those. It was good to know that they existed. He was sorry to think that he was making that rare good man worry about him, but Nicky had a feeling that Leon was as focused as he was because he needed distraction from bigger problems. If Nicky could be some sort of distraction for a while, that was fine with him. 

“I'm not looking for reasons to change my mind, Leon.” 

“I know, but. Couldn't hurt to think about it, could it?” Leon smiled, though his eyes were serious. “You're still too young, kid.” 

Nicky didn't answer. He was still young, yes, but at the same time he'd lived way too many years. 

“Besides...I don't want to take this to a dark place or anything, but do you have any idea how long it's going to take you to just...waste away? Vampires are supposed to be really hard to kill. I don't think your body's gonna let you just shut down, at least not in a hurry.” 

“I won't feed for a first time, and it will be quicker.” Nicky reached for the tea, because it might make Leon feel better and it wouldn't keep him alive any longer. Nothing but blood would. “A person dies when they go through the change,” he said, drawing the tea close and breathing in the steam. It wasn't as dark or rich as the tea his mother would make when he was a kid, but there was enough familiar about it that he smiled. 

“A newborn vampire is mostly dead already. The first feed is the deepest they ever need, since they need to fill themselves with living blood. Every feed from then on is just...topping off, I guess. It takes a long time for living blood to die in a vampire's body, but it won't take long for a vampire to die without any living blood in him. Maybe a week or two, I’d guess.” 

Leon's smile vanished. He studied Nicky. “How do you know all that?” 

“I know vampires. I've seen them up close for years. I was there when the latest one was turned, years ago. And some of it is just...science.” He took a sip of tea, and it was weaker but just as sweet as his mother would have made. 

He shut his eyes for a moment, almost content. 

“Science,” Leon repeated after a moment. “Most scientists I've ever read about don't have a damned thing to say about vampires or wolves. All they say is that they ought to be impossible.” 

“Most scientists have narrow minds, I think.” Nicky smiled, opening his eyes and looking down at the pale tea. “If they think something is impossible, they don’t look any deeper. But obviously those things _are_ possible, and so they ought to be learning how.” 

He caught Leon's surprised look and smiled self-consciously. “I used to be smart,” he said, bracing for the smirk that statement usually gained him. “I don't remember anything, but...sometimes lately I understand things, and I think it's because I used to know about them.” 

His smile didn't fade, but he thought of all the things people believed about him. All the things they saw in him. 'Smart' wasn't on that list. He looked back at the tea and sighed. He was trying not to dissolve into self-pity, and this wasn't helping. 

"Hey." 

He looked up again. 

Leon's gaze was heavy and serious. "This is your problem right here, kid. You used to be something, and then you were something else. Now you're this, and later you'll be dead." 

Nicky frowned, confused. 

"You're being way too compartmentalized about it. You talk like you've lived separate lives, like what you _were_ has nothing to do with what you _are_. People aren't like that." He reached out and tapped Nicky lightly on the temple. "This is the same brain you were born with. If you were smart then, you're smart now, even if it's gotten a little buried." 

It was a nice thought. 

Nicky remembered a shred of something from somewhere far back, some distant textbook stolen from a university library when he was still in middle school. It was science, some form of it, that said things didn't ever change from what they were. They took on different forms sometimes but they were still...down at the atoms or something, still the same. 

He had been a smart child - maybe he still was. An adult who would have been smart for a ten-year-old. 

Leon met his eyes, and there was something challenging in his expression. "Maybe you need some time to teach yourself of all the stuff you used to know, but hey. Suddenly you have a hell of a lot of time, if you take advantage of it." 

"It isn't..." Nicky hesitated, letting his thoughts form. It was such a slow process. "I'm not that person anymore," he settled on. "If I had been changed younger, before I lost so much…then the idea of spending hundreds of years learning about the world would have been irresistible." He smiled faintly. "It's tempting even now." 

Leon grinned. 

"But." 

The grin faded. Leon waved him on. "But?" 

Nicky met his eyes. "But then what?" 

Leon studied him. 

"I...I was proud as a kid, I think. I was proud of my mind, but I was only so proud because my father and mother were so happy with me. I didn't do it for myself. Why do it now? I can spend a thousand years learning everything in the world, but knowledge is useless on its own." 

"That's not what my teachers used to tell me." Leon shrugged and nudged at his arm. "Drink, kid." 

Nicky looked down at the tea. "It is. Knowledge needs a voice and an audience. It needs to be active to accomplish anything. I don't want to be a voice for anything. I don't want to understand this world anymore." He sipped to please Leon, and it was sweet and warm and fragrant and it did help, a little. "My parents are gone, there is no one to want to please anymore." 

"What about pleasing yourself?" 

"I can think of...two things that I’ve ever wanted just for myself." Nicky shrugged, granting Leon a smile because he looked far too solemn. "The first was to get my mind back from the venom. But I’m not sure that’s possible. I’ve done all I can, but I’m still…” He gestured, making a face. “The second one? I'll never have that, no matter how long I live." 

Leon frowned but didn't bother trying to guess what that second thing was, if there was even a doubt in his mind. Instead he just sighed. 

"Maybe you're thinking too big. Maybe instead of coming up with some grand goal for yourself, you can start with the little things you just enjoy doing." 

"Like what?" Nicky asked, his smile growing despite himself. There was something about Leon, this worn, frustrated, kind-eyed man, that made his thoughts of his parents somehow stronger. They would have liked Leon. They would have liked that a man like Leon was helping him when he needed help. 

Leon thought about it, and shot Nicky a sudden sideways look. "I don't suppose you were ever a chess player." 

Nicky breathed in, his smile splitting into a grin. 

Leon grinned right back. "I was hoping you'd say that." He stood up fast and moved to the door. 

"Wait." 

"Oh God, not another 'but'." 

Nicky laughed softly as Leon shot him a despairing look from the doorway. "You're exhausted. You've been in here with me for hours." 

Leon's smile went crooked. "You might have a point.” He pointed a finger back at Nicky. “Fine. Nap, then we’re doing this. A few games of chess, and maybe I’ll bring in some of my records to fill the silence in here. Remind you that there’s more to life than what’s going through your head right now.” 

Nicky smiled and let Leon leave without another objection. 

Leon was right, after all. There were a lot of small things in life that were worth doing, that were enjoyable. Chess made him think of hours spent in tense, silent battle with his nonno, who taught him the game and played with him just long enough for Nicky to start winning. 

Chess wasn't life. It wasn't enough to change his mind about any of the bigger things. But it was something. 

* * *

Turning the corner that led to his apartment building, Joe nearly groaned out loud. The scent of blood was in the air. Stale echoes of blood. He didn't sniff, didn't bother to track. So near to his place, whoever it was had to be looking for him. He'd let them find him. 

He moved past a small cluster of men speaking rapid-fire Spanish and mounted the steps to get into his building. 

"Joe?” 

He looked up at the front door to the building as it opened, frowning at the strange cool sing-song voice. 

The fang was somehow familiar to him, like Joe had seen her face somewhere. A woman, slender and barely shorter than Joe, with dark eyes flicked with red and a cool smirk on her face. She must have been striking even before she was changed. She stood in the doorway, hip cocked against the frame. 

"Joe. This must be you." 

"You don't have wanted posters up underground?" He moved up the stairs and slumped against the railing. "I'm not in the mood for this. What do you want?" 

"Not in the mood?" The fang's smirk grew. Her head tilted. "You're a werewolf. Who cares how you feel? You destroy people." 

"Haven't destroyed anyone lately that I can think of," he said in return, rubbing his tired face. He had to remember next time not to get home until the sun was up and there weren't any fangs risking their pretty skin to hunt him down. "Get to the point." 

Her smile didn't fade, but there was something in her eyes. A gleam of sharp, cold intelligence, but over that, shadowing it, a razored kind of anger. "Meta sends a message, which is better than you deserve. She gave you a chance, and instead you attacked her. You invaded her home and took her son from her." 

Joe rolled his eyes. “Sebastien wasn’t exactly kidna--” 

“Sebastien is a traitor,” the fang answered. “And he has been replaced. Meta isn’t short on people wanting to be her lieutenant. Sebastien can rot with the garbage.” 

The unwavering smirk on the fang was starting to get unnerving. Maybe she was Sebastien's replacement. She seemed to be a breed of creepy that would go well with Merrick's. 

Joe spoke fast, wanting the fang off his landing and away from his home. "That it?" 

"No. Now I have a message from me." The smirk slipped away into nothing. Just a complete absence of expression. "I hope there's someone in this world who loves you. I hope they’re in that bar right now, and they'll never walk out. I hope Meta takes them from you the way you took someone from her. Or that they’re mangled forever, the way you mangled my _…_ ” For a moment fang’s coolness slipped into something hotter. But she stopped and took a breath and went on flatly. “You should have accepted her invitation. It was better than a beast like you deserved. Now, you start paying." 

The fang smirked again a moment later, the same strange, vengeful smirk. She stood there, still, calm, waiting. 

For a moment Joe just wanted to see the back of her, whatever he had to say to make it happen. But an instant later he registered her words. 

The bar. 

They knew about the bar. 

The tiredness stayed behind on the landing as he tore down the stairs and took off down the street, leaving the fang and her hard eyes behind. 


End file.
